


Intermezzo: The Great Corellian Betrothal Circus

by B_Radley



Series: Rise and Fight Again [25]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebellion Era - All Media Types
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Comedy of Manners (Corellian Style), Dynastic Intrigue, Families of Choice, Family, Family Shenanigans, Humor, Love, Multi, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-07-18 13:23:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 62,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16119350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/B_Radley/pseuds/B_Radley
Summary: Dynastic woes on Corellia! Much to Fulcrum’s amusement, Bryne Covenant becomes embroiled in a marriage crisis for the Electoral and Covenant family on Corellia—a crisis that has a hint of Imperial design and manufacture. A wrong move in this crisis might seal Corellia’s isolation from the growing resistance movement against the Empire.





	1. Dice Are Rolling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conversations before dawn. A Dragon rises. The Imperial Advisor reads the gossip rags. Grandmotherly greetings. Negotiation with the tops down. The Wild Space Shuffle.

**The Eighth Month of the Year 7963 CRC**  
**5:2 YGE (The Second Month of the Fifth Year of our Glorious Emperor’s Reign)  
** **25,997 Old Corellian Calendar  
** **1697 Ruusian Reformation Calendar  
** **Year 21 of the Great Resync....**

**Oh, whatever. You get the picture. Everything’s in present tense, anyway.**

**Another time, another place.**

 Daaineran Faygan watches her father as the conversations flow around him. His eyes are closed, but she knows that he can hear every word that is spoken. She grins. _Conversations might be a bit strong of a word. Words placed in a string, circling back around to a point every so often_. Dani sighs. Her first monthly meeting as the Electarine-Caretaker, the guardian of the Elector-Presumptive, sitting here in this collection of septuagenarians and octogenarians who make up the Electoral Council, so that the energetic young girl doesn’t have to. She is sure that Jamelyn Blackthorn would have been finding the nearest dirtpile with her new friend, Talle Tredecima. Dani grins at the newfound laughter emanating from her apartments as both of them found time to actually be little girls.

She sighs as she thinks of a warm bed that she can return to; from the traditional before-dawn meetings of this body. A warm bed with an even warmer, recovering former Diktat in it. As yet another member of this august body commences their droning practice, Dani begins to catalog her memories of every centimeter of soft skin under her fingers, especially in the last few weeks when every session to rehabilitate the muscles of Shyla’s frozen right leg—the result of an assassination attempt, by parties as yet unknown, had ended with—.

_Wait, what?_

She shakes the memories of Shyla’s face coming undone away, as she hears a familiar name. Her attention reluctantly draws back to the current speaker. Kath Morn, along with Dani, and Draq’ one of the three youngest on the Electoral Council. She feels her teeth clinch. Morn, an imperious woman in her mid fifties, her blonde hair immaculately coiffed, had only recently been added to the Council, along with her distant cousin, Slan Fells, a Corellian living on Tralus.

“I think it’s time that we discuss the Responsibilities of our Covenant. It has been nearly a year since his formal Acceptance of the title. According to Article 177 of the _Concordat_ of the Covenant, he only has another two months to accept a bride, in order to fulfill his duties to the propagation of the Line,” she says in her affected accent. Dani notices once again, that the rest of her face doesn’t seem to move when her lips do. A trait that she shares with Fells, even though they are only related by marriage and his example is more out of the side of his mouth.

 _Or his ass_ , Dani thinks uncharitably.

She shifts her attention to the resident of the planet of farmers and miners. Talus and Tralus are twin worlds, only loosely affiliated with Corellia and the other Five Brothers, but heavily dependent on the others for trade, commerce, and protection. The Federation of the Double Worlds had accepted the Electoral and Covenantal titles as their Elder Families in return for this affiliation, retaining their own Head of Government. Fells stares back at her, his hazel eyes appraising her. He runs his hands through his still-dark brown hair—a thatch that bears strange resemblance to a Selonian’s pelt—albeit one that had been stuffed and left in the basement of a museum— and was not quite a shade that occurred in nature in the Corellian system. He nods in agreement to Morn’s words, his hands clasped over his middle. An evil part of Dani’s mind tells the other part that the Tralian’s corset is probably filled to overflowing, like the Horn of Bounty that is the symbol of his world.

Draq’ finally speaks up, a perplexed look on his faith. “I don’t think that Article 177 has ever been invoked in the modern era, if at all,” he says. “I’m not even sure it’s enforceable. There are other Articles that deal with the Covenant’s responsibilities to the line.”

“It hasn’t been needed. Most Covenants have accepted the responsibility of their Compacts, rather than spreading their seed around in the wind like the current holder,” Fells says, his smooth voice grating almost as much on Dani’s ears as her nerves at this particular moment.

She starts to stand up, but feels Draq’s hand on her arm. She narrows her eyes at her father, who gives a quick and sharp shake of his head. She sits, but can’t refrain from speaking. “I would think that him spreading his seed around would prove that he’s capable of his responsibilities,” she says dryly.

Fells smiles his unctuous smile. “As a probable recipient of that seed, my dear, I would think you would want him to be a bit more settled. But, of course, you’re a Zeltron and bit more ‘free’ with your thinking,” Fells says, his tone dripping with thinly disguised contempt.

Draq’ stares at Fells; his smile fading under the scrutiny of those piercing blue eyes. He turns to the others. “I think that this is a waste of our time. We have more pressing matters to talk about,” he says calmly. “My daughter’s thoughts on the matter of the Covenant’s seed are her own, until they pertain to a matter that is this body’s actual concern.” He turns to her and drops one eye in a wink, with a accompanying upturn of one side of his lip.

Dani thinks that this is the final word on the matter, from the Dragon and the Head of the Electoral Council.

“I call for a vote. This is a serious matter,” comes another voice, a voice from one of the generic ancients on the Council. “I propose that Bryne, Covenant of Corellia, follow the Articles of the _Concordat_ , as set forth in the Acceptance Compact that he agreed to. There is a murmur of assent and seconding.

“If he does not submit to Impoundment and the Betrothal procedures, his legitimacy as Covenant, as well as that of the chosen Elector-Presumptive, is null and void,” Fells says.

Dani’s eyes flash to the black; her skin flushes a deeper red at the note of triumph in his voice; as well as the look of satisfaction on his face.

She raises one eyebrow at a brief glimpse of uncertainty in Morn—the sports team owner’s—brown eyes.

Out of the corner of her eye, Daaineran Faygan sees a Dragon rise. She grins.

The fire will follow.

+=+=+=+=+=

Delilah Sal, Imperial Advisor for Internal Affairs for Corellia and her four Brother-planets, narrows her dark eyes at the datapad as she sips her caf. She tugs at her open silk robe. The dark orbs roll towards the ceiling as yet another article of the Covenant of Corellia’s exploits scrolls over the screen. She glances down at the grainy holo from a beach near Southshield. Covenant is recognizable—as much as any holo of the elusive Protector of the Five Brothers can be; his face apparently forgettable even to electronic devices. A younger woman manages to hide her scantily clad body behind the Corellian’s thicker body.

Upraised fingers from each of the subjects of the holo are blurred for another reason, rather than poor electronics. Delilah smirks as she reads the caption. _Does the Protector use protection? Who is this one?_ The expression fades as she sees her own name mentioned in the column, as yet another conquest of Covenant. _If I am going to be linked with him, I might as well get some of the perks_. She pulls her gaze over Covenant’s body in the swim trunks. A slight smile twitches on the right side of her lips, the opposite side of her face that bears a raised eyebrow.

Sal changes the screen on the datapad to an intelligence assessment of the so-called Protector. His exploits don’t seem to detract from his popularity, even though most Corellians polled can barely tell the ISB investigator what he looks like. His conquests seem to be chosen for their tight-lipped refusal to spill any secrets, at least to any official outlets.

She hears a noise behind her. She smiles, then turns slowly to her bed. The bronze-skinned male is perched on his elbow, his blue eyes surveying her form. Her own eyes move down his body, to where the covers pool at his calves. Her eyes lock on the symbol around his neck. The symbol of a peaceful world—this world’s most-of-the-time ally.

The new growth of a pencil-thin black mustache twitches as he sees the headline of the datapad in her hand. “So, am I catching up with Covenant in tabloid headlines?” he asks.

Sal rolls her eyes. “Maybe. He’s just a bit more discerning in his choices. Yours apparently only have to be breathing,” she snarks. She gasps as his hand moves into her robe, grasping her ass and pulling her closer.

“Does that include you, my dear?” he retorts.

“Perhaps. According to the rags, I’ve been screwing him relentlessly for a few months.” She looks away, then into his eyes. “You can’t believe everything you read,” she says, a grin flowing to her features, before fading. “I may start to pursue the reality a bit more. If I can keep him distracted, we can keep Bel Iblis on his heels.”

His Grace, Dorith Panteer of Alderaan, now Chairman and CEO of Blastech Industries, smiles, then reaches his other hand out to take hers. He rolls onto his back. Delilah allows her robe to fall onto her shoulders, then to the floor. She climbs into the bed, straddling him, as tightens his grip on the soft skin of her hips. He draws a breath in as she sinks on him. Her own gasps match his breathing as she builds a rhythm.

“About that, Advisor. May be easier than you think.”

Delilah Sal is unable to ask as the explosion builds.

+=+=+=+=+=

Meglann Florlin takes a deep breath as she watches Bryne Covenant move his hand to the doorbell, next to a plain door on a small well-kept house. She looks around at the secluded, warm neighborhood on the outskirts of Cosaintheas, the Shield of the South of the main Corellian continent. She notices that Bryne is looking back at her before he rings the bell. He reaches back with his left arm and pulls her close to him. She feels his lips against her still-growing out bronze curls. She closes her eyes.

“You okay, Meglann? We can still turn around, if you’re not ready.”

She opens her mouth to reply.

“No, actually you can’t, hardhead,” comes a new voice.

Bryne whirls around, his eyes wide at the woman standing framed in the door, a stout cane in front of her, her hands stacked on the knob. Meglann’s eyes track to her face, to the blue eyes gazing at them curiously, but with a tiny hint of suspicion. The old woman’s lips are set, but one side quirks up with suppressed amusement.

“And why can’t we?” Meglann asks before her mind engages.

“Because you’re already committed—standing here on my porch, girl,” she says. “You’ve gotten this far. If you turn back now, that would imply that you’re a coward.”

Meglann feels the heat rise as she crosses her arms. The woman holds her hands up, the cane held loosely in one hand. “Peace, love,” she says. “Those brown eyes—that sparkle before the spark—can only belong to someone related to Elann Florlin.”

Both Bryne and Meglann look at one another. “Have you ever met Elann, ma’am?” Bryne asks. Meglann fights a smirk as she sees the charm dialed up a notch in his grin and his drawling inflection.

The older woman stares at him before rolling her eyes. “Don’t try that poodoo with me, your Eminence. I don’t have much to do these days, but I see your face and name all over the holosheets. You seem to be a bit busy, sniffing around like a three-balled tooka,” she says, the humidity in her voiced dropping by several points. “I didn’t get to be a full _Sava_ at two major Universities by being unable to resist a half-way pretty Corellian grin.”

Meglann rolls her eyes as he looks at her and mouths, _half-way?_

The resident of the house turns her attention back to Meglann, who is fighting laughter. “So tell me. Have you managed to become one of his conquests? Will I see your face on the holosheets?”

“Might be too late not to be in the _Tattler_ ,” Meglann admits, with her own dry tones. “Not quite a conquest.” She smiles warmly, looking at him. “He and a few others are very dear to me.”

For the first time the old woman smiles broadly. “Well said,” the _Sava_ remarks. She reaches out and runs her finger along Meglann’s jaw. “I can see your father in you, as well, girl. Right along your jawline.” Meglann looks down and away at the touch. “He told me how much Elann meant to him. Even up to his last letter. He was so proud to tell me that he had a daughter—as soon as he found out.”

The old woman steps out onto the porch; pulls Meglann into her arms. She feels a warm pair of lips against her cheek. “I’m Sulen Gallamby. I was once known as Sulen Dao.

“I guess that I’m your grandmother.”

+=+=+=+=+=

“.....we’ll transfer the credits from our TaggeCo projects, as soon as I get back to Corellia,” Nola Vorserrie manages to get out, alternating between gasps and words. She grits her teeth against the rising light behind her eyelids. She looks down at the woman whose mouth plays over her bared breasts. “Could you stop for one minute?” she growls. “This is important.”

Sloane Conlyn, Conyl-Regent and Senator of the Honorable Pryde-World of Ganthel, continues by running her tongue over the newly installed Operations Manager for the Crowneshield Foundation for Refugees’ collarbone. She pauses only for a second. “Nope. This is just part of the negotiation strategy,” she says before Nola feels her teeth.

“You sure you aren’t a Zeltron?” Nola snarks. “I grew up with one; this seems awfully like a business deal from her world.”

“Wouldn’t know,” Sloane replies, as she rests her dark skin against Nola’s pale, for a moment. “Never met one.”

“Maybe I’ll introduce you,” Nola says with a laugh. “She might tip the negotiations in my favor. I am, after all, her favorite baby foster-sister.”

They both lie on a blanket in the center of a the capital city’s principal park. A basket rests next to a bottle in a cold-wrap; both lie next to Nola’s small bag, the butt of a small blaster commonly found among her world’s Handmaidens sticking out. The brightly colored scarf that acts as Sloane’s top rests partly on top of the bag.

Nola had managed to keep her blouse on, albeit opened to her waist. She sighs and drops the datapad. She lifts Sloane’s chin, then brings her own lips to the Senator’s. There is silence for several minutes.

Finally, Sloane breaks away. “I’m glad that we can help you, Lady Vorserrie,” she says. “Most of our world’s wealth is tied up in its industrial might, with the attendant corruption we’ve found. The fact that we might gain some that we can use for the standard of living, all while helping others is gratifying.” She looks out over the veldt of the parkland at the horizon.

Nola softens and nestles closer to her. The plurality of the pronoun is not lost on her. “You’re doing great things, Regent,” she whispers in Sloane’s ear. She softens the serious words by sticking her tongue in the ear.

Giggling erupts as Sloane attempts to retaliate. Somehow, Nola’s blouse winds up tossed into the trees. They both catch their breath as Sloane lays on Nola’s belly. “It’s fortunate that the Alchernon Expanse can be used for something good. Our industrial Prydes haven’t found a way to exploit it, yet,” she says, only a tiny bit of irony dripping from her voice.

“It’s perfect for our needs, Sloane,” Nola replies, running her fingers through the Conyl-Regent’s hair. She pulls a seashell shaped comb from the coiffure, allowing the dark waves to fall over her own skin. “A huge area that has only one safe way in and multiple egress points through the storms is perfect to store our ships in.” She doesn’t bother with code words, knowing that Behntu and Stepheana, Sloane’s two Guardians are vigilant in the trees. “You know, I wonder what the hell the citizens of Ganthel will think when they spot their leader half-naked in a public park with someone, ‘negotiating’,” she finishes.

“Oh, they’ll think that the Conyl has half-way decent taste,” she says. Sloane smirks at Nola’s mock-aggrieved expression.

“Half-way?” Nola snarks.

“Maybe three-quarters,” Sloane says, rising to a kneeling position. She pulls Nola up as well. Her breathing rises as Nola’s hand finds its way under her skirt, resting on her thigh for a moment. Sloane takes in a ragged breath. “If you’re really worth my time, I might have some info on some of those items you’re looking for. Info from Etti IV.” The word turns into a gasp as Nola finds a particular spot. As she concentrates on the task at hand, she files the name in her mind.

From his vantage point looking outward, Behntu smiles at the mingled cries. _Good to hear again_ , he thinks.

He maintains his vigil.

+=+=+=+=+=

Covenant watches as Meglann and Sulen laugh together on the couch. He looks away as Meglann puts her head on the professor’s shoulder. He brings the cup of strong caf up to his lips, to hide his emotions at the reunion.

Sulen notices. “Okay, your Eminence. Put that sad face away. I now have a granddaughter. She has another family member—at least one of blood.” She grins. “I think that her family of choice has done a damned good job of loving her and protecting her.”

Bryne looks at Meglann. “Don’t look at me, bud. I didn’t tell her anything,” she says.

“She didn’t have to, knucklehead,” Sulen says. “I can see the care for her. I can tell from her that others care for her as well.”

“Why do you keep calling him ‘knucklehead’ and ‘hardhead’?” Meglann asks, her eyes narrowing.

“Because I knew his father, dear—yes, Covenant—I know exactly who you are. All that vagueness in the announcements from the Council. I just have to look at you—at least very closely—to know who you are.” She holds her hand up once more in a gesture of calm. “Peace, your Eminence. I worked for the Electoral Council. I was your father’s legal advisor.” A devilish expression flows to her lined face. “I helped negotiate his freedom from the Hag.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Bryne sees Meglann staring at them both, her eyes covering most of her face. He smiles, then shakes his head. “Since you’re now a part of Corellia, Ina, you should know that some of our dynastic issues can resemble a circus.” He sees Sulen’s eyes take in the nickname. The Keeper of one of the Nine Corellian Hells—the realm of Creators.

The name of the last Elector of Corellia, as well. Bryne smiles as he remembers the holos and vids of his Grandmother that Draq’ had shone him.

“Well, Alderaan has its share of issues as well,” Meglann replies. “Queen Breha was kind of a compromise Queen. Lucky for us, I think. Can’t speak for others, but she and the Viceroy have kept us in the light.”

Bryne smiles at the admiring tone and expression. He turns as Sulen speaks to him.

“What’s your name? Your birthname?”

He hesitates. He can see Meglann waiting, as well as her grandmother. “Jame,” he whispers.

Meglann’s smile widens. “That’s a beautiful name,” she says. “What does it mean?”

“Tumescent Hawk,” he says without a beat, unable to meet her eyes.

She rolls her eyes. “We both know that isn’t exactly true,” she says. She puts her hand over her mouth as she realizes where she is and who she is in front of, blushing furiously.

Sulen laughs, a deep sound that warms the sitting room. “Don’t worry, dear. I know where certain parts go, either slowly or quickly.” Her sly expression flows to her eyes. “Kinda how you got here to sit there blushing at the thought that someone might be interested in those parts of yours.”

“What can you tell me about my father, uh...?” Meglann struggles with what to call her.

“You can call me Sulen, or Gran, if you feel like it. If you call me Granny or Grandma, or worse yet, Grammy, I will toss you out on your pretty little ass,” she says with only a tiny hint of tenured professorial malice. Her eyes grow soft. “I wasn’t there for his formative years. His father made sure of that.”

Meglann takes her hand in hers, squeezing tightly. Sulen gathers herself. “I was young and in love at the University on Bar’leth,” she says. Erich was handsome—a man about town. Heir to one of the largest shipyards on Fondor, a human adopted into one of the oldest native families. Didn’t take long for us to wind up married.

“As soon as I produced an heir, his mother and father decreed that I was no longer necessary. Guess I was too vocal for them.” She grins. “Or they didn’t want their future Yardmaster to be corrupted from the family line.”

“Yardmaster?” Bryne asks.

“Yes. The great Elder Families of Fondor run the shipyards. They don’t have much production, anymore, but they are famous for their prowess at repairing major ships. They’re not cash-rich.”

Bryne nods. “I thought that the Fondorians—the natives—controlled most of the shipyards on their world.”

Sulen smiles. “You do pay attention, knucklehead. The humans are beginning to intermarry. In Therion Dao’s case, his father Erich was an engineer’s son. A brilliant engineer. When he died, the Fondorian Elder Family took him in, since they had lost their children and heirs.” She rubs her face. “I’m not sure that family got a bargain with Erich. A fact that that took me awhile to learn.

“I did get the last laugh,” Sulen continues. “Therion left as soon as he could; joined the Judicials. He saw what it was like.” Her smile grows wistful. “First thing he did was come to Corellia. He spent his summers from the Academy here. They had to look to a nephew, Erich’s human sister’s son as the Heir.”

Meglann turns to Sulen and hugs her tightly. Without a word, Bryne rises and walks over to the pair. He pulls them both to him.

He hears Sulen speak against his neck. “Thank you, _Taoiseach-Ifreann_ ,” she whispers. “ _Áinfean.”_

His eyes widen as he translates the Old Middle Corellian.

_Chieftain of the Hells. Tempest._

+=+=+=+=+=

Ahsoka Tano allows her eyes to open as she feels the shift from hyperspace to normal space. She fixes them on the Captain of the _Jamestyn’s Hope._

Tamsin smirks at her, as she runs her fingers through the now brown-streaked green curls. “If you could wake up from your nap, dear, now that we’ve done all of the work.”

Ahsoka doesn’t rise to the riposte. _Well, not much_ , she thinks. “If you want to call that work, darling. Jorg did most of it,” she says, smiling at the co-pilot.

“I taught him everything he knows,” Tamsin replies immediately.

“Isn’t there some saying about the student exceeding the teacher’s skills?” Ahsoka asks, the Smirk flowing to her features.

“Well, there is something that he can’t do better than I can,” Tamsin serves, her dark eyes roaming over Ahsoka’s body. “At least you didn’t complain last night.”

Ahsoka shakes her head. Rather than return the volley, she changes the subject to calm the fire-red blushes of the co-pilot. “So this is where the coordinates led us?” she asks.

Sylvanus Helm, the first officer, speaks up from the holotank. He consults a datapad. “Yep,” he says. “At least the first leg, to activate the next leg in the Kuat files.”

Ahsoka nods. “Thanks, Obie,” she says. She grins. “Wow, you actually didn’t call me ‘ma’am’,” she adds. “You’ve come a long way.”

Tamsin laughs. “He’s just glad that Jorg here has to listen to tales of your appreciation of my awesomeness—the double entendres—and blush his way through a watch.”

Ahsoka looks away, her smile fading as she thinks of how they had acquired those Kuat files. She knows that Tamsin sees her expression; watches her get up to walk over to her. She shakes her head quickly. The Captain nods, her eyes actually showing a tiny bit of concern, before another smirk creases them.

She reaches out to the Force, hoping against hope to see the green, purple, and gold light that signifies that her hunt-brother, Bryne Covenant, can touch the mystical partner that binds them. The man who had risked everything, to find the information they were using to locate the half-mythical Katana project. A small fleet of powerful frigates, missing since the beginning of the Clone War. Covenant had found the data, while helping Meglann to free herself from a grasping, powerful Moff. A man who had tried to add her to his collection of legacies, much as he had tried with her mother. Jano Secor had failed spectacularly in both attempts.

She sighs. There is nothing in her Force-sense. She sees Tamsin looking at her intently again.

“You know, you two are the biggest idiots when it comes to each other,” she says.

Ahsoka feels her anger spark. Tamsin smiles calmly. “I can see it on your face, Fulcrum. Tempest would probably tell you that he did everything because of the sacrifices you made; just as you’re thinking about his.”

Ahsoka feels her anger fade. She turns away from the viewport. She’s not wrong, she thinks to herself. _I’ll never tell her so, though_. She starts to say something; just as a buzzing sensation forms in her Force-sense.

“Proximity alarm,” Obie yells. “Large hyperspace displacement!”

“Shields!” Ahsoka yells. She manages to catch a glimpse of an elongated boom, with a tall superstructure at one end and an engine housing at the other.

A _Nebulon-B_ escort frigate. Just like those in the Katana project.

The world explodes in front of her. Her eyes lock on Jorg, the young co-pilot; his expression of terror as he is catapulted into space. She reaches out to the Force and yanks.


	2. Never Trust a Corellian In a Game of Chance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conversations in front of a bacta tank. The Electarine-Caretaker manages not to stab the Betrothal Twins, but finds herself the guardian of the Covenant’s virtue. A politician comforts; as she heals. No stroking here: the Covenant is Impounded.

Ahsoka Tano watches the woman rest in bacta. She closes her eyes as she sees Tamsin’s face; the struggle to pull her back into the wounded ship. An instant before Obie had managed to engage the forcefields that had stopped the escape of atmosphere from the gaping hole.

The look on Jorg’s face competes with Tamsin’s look of acceptance of her fate, as their eyes locked. The sheer terror on his young visage moves to and fro in her mind. She feels a touch on her right lek.

Meglann pulls her into her arms, holding her tightly. After a moment, Ahsoka relaxes and folds into the hug. She hears Meglann’s voice echoing in her senses as she pushes the young co-pilot’s face to the back of her mind.

“I know you, Brawler,” Meglann says again. “You’re taking your loss to heart, like you do every time. Like no one else has any responsibilities. Like Jorg didn’t know what he was signing up for.” Her eyes soften as they look deeper into Ahsoka’s eyes. “Like you didn’t save the Captain’s life, and maybe everyone else’s on that ship.”

Ahsoka kisses her quickly, then moves back to Tamsin. “What are her injuries?” she asks Two-One-VeeCee, the medical droid hovering nearby.

“She will be fine, but not for lack of trying,” the droid says acerbically. Ahsoka rolls her eyes. _Did someone program this droid with Vokara Che’s personality and bedside manner?_ She focuses on the droid’s words. “She has a concussion, of course. I wouldn’t want to see what could dent that hard head. But I digress. She is suffering from the affects of a brief exposure to vacuum, but it was very brief.” The droid focuses her photoreceptors on Ahsoka. “Whatever pulled her back in, wasn’t exactly gentle. Broken shoulder; I don’t know how many broken ribs—don’t have that many fingers and toes. Punctured liver, as well.” Vee gives the impression of narrowing her eyes. “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?” 

Ahsoka starts at the almost implied end to that question; a punctuation from her past. _Padawan Tano_ , in a dry-as-Geonosis Twi’leki inflection. She manages not to look at the toes of her boots, as she would have when younger and facing the original owner of that inflection. 

“No matter, dear,” the droid intones. “She’ll be fine. Mandalorian-born stubbornness and a bit of adopted Alderaanian common sense, as well as my skill and modern medical technology will save the day. It’ll be a long recovery. This amount of bacta immersion will drain her energy.”

Ahsoka manages to nod and turn away. She focuses on Meglann. “Speaking of half-Mandalorian stubbornness, where is Bryne?” she asks. 

“Something is apparently brewing in the capital,” Meglann says. “He was told to be at Draq’s residence post-haste.”

Ahsoka grins in spite of her thoughts of the _Jamestyn’s Hope_ and her crew, now resting and repairing their hurts in a dry dock at the CEC yard. “Sounds like the Dragon’s exact words,” she says. 

“So what’s next for us, Ahsoka?” Meglann asks, pulling her close again. 

“Hopefully going to snag the Sausage-King and his new crew and head out for a couple of leads on the fleet. One that Nola found on Ganthel, and the brief glimpse I got before Obie managed to jump us out of that ambush.”

Meglann smiles at the affectionate tone of the nickname. “Obie can’t stop extolling the virtues of Fulcrum enough,” she says. “He says that you saved them.”

Ahsoka looks away. “He didn’t do too bad himself. If he hadn’t gotten the damage control fields up, I would’ve been swimming as well as Tamsin and Jorg.”

“Do you think that the Nebbie was part of the fleet you’re looking for?”

It is Ahsoka’s turn to smile at the old-salt term for the frigate; from someone who has been flying all of a month. “I don’t know. I don’t believe in coincidences. I just want to know how they knew we were going to be there.”

“So where first, love?” Meglann asks, nodding. “What’s the lead?”

Ahsoka smiles at the eagerness. “Managed to catch a glimpse of a registry code on the screen as that frigate jumped in, just before everything went to poodoo. Coupled with what Nola sent me; might be promising.” Her smile widens. “Ever been to the Corporate Sector?”

“Nope. When do we leave?”

“You might want to rethink your enthusiasm. Etti IV is not exactly a well-known vacation spot.”

“Someplace new, though,” Meglann says.

Ahsoka rolls her eyes, then Smirks. “So let’s go to Draq’s. Might be entertaining to see what Bryne has gotten himself into.”

“Yeah,” Meglann says. “Maybe I can do some comparison of Corellian sausage with an expert on _Akar_ sausage while we’re waiting.”

Ahsoka’s eyes are wide at the almost nonchalant way she says it as they leave the medcenter.

_This is all Dani and Bryne’s fault. I blame their influence on her._

+=+=+=+=+=

Dani watches as her father restrains himself from violence with the rest of the Electoral Council, especially the Betrothal Twins, as she had taken to calling Morn and Fells. The Dragonfire had been abated, as Draq’ had merely stood, then turned around and walked out of the previous meeting, signaling its end.

_Rule #1 of the Electoral Council. When the Dragon leaves, discussion is over, at least for the time being._

Dani pinches the bridge of her nose. She had not been able to sleep after the meeting; thinking of the affects that this movement could have on Bryne, as well as others. Another hurdle that could leave him unable to participate in the coming fight, as he could be tied to Corellia, rather than going out among the stars to fight the darkness. She shakes her head, cursing inwardly. _What about Bryne himself? What of Ahsoka and the whatever it is that they have built?_ The reborn trust and bonds, reconnected against the backdrop of the oaths they had taken to one another, over a decade before on the plains of Shili. The oaths that had led them to fight with one another.

She closes her eyes as she tunes back in; just as a pause breaks up Draq’s assault.

“Draq’, you are being obtuse, as usual,” Kath Morn says. “This is best for Corellia. We need these symbols in these times; the uncertainty—the disorder that the Empire is trying to bring under control.” 

She nods at the woman who sits near the door. An unwelcome guest, but one that they couldn’t easily refuse, due to the pure white tunic that she wears. Tunics usually worn by those involved directly in the security of that Empire. “Plus, it will provide continuity for the line; possibly produce the next generation of our Elder Family.”

Dani shifts her hands on the table in front of her, preparing to lever herself up and into the woman’s face. She can only hope that her hands don’t stray to the single knife strapped to her thigh. Her interpretation of the ‘no-weapons’ policy of the meeting.

She stops as she notices Sal staring at her, a bemused expression on her face. _No. Not exactly bemused_ , Dani thinks. Sal’s eyes seem to be locked on the area of her chest, just where the low-cut top dips. Dani’s feels her right eyebrow rise slightly. On a whim, she opens her empathic gift. The left eyebrow joins the right in moving towards her hairline.

_Well, this might take less effort than stabbing her in the eye with your little knife_. She moves her tongue slightly past her lips, while raising the lips in a smile. A slight focus on the Imperial with the resonance, and the tiny bit of lust she had felt from the woman intensifies. She is rewarded with the sight of the Advisor’s manicured hand moving to the tight collar of the uniform.

Dani is conscious of Draq’s eyes on her, narrowed. _You’re welcome_ , she mouths. He shakes his head and turns back to the twins. 

“This is ridiculous,” he says. “Most of these damned Articles have not been contemplated, let alone enforced, since the Ruusian Reformation—almost seventeen hundred years ago. I can’t believe we are actually seriously discussing and considering one of the lesser known ones in this day and age.”

“Maybe it hasn’t been needed since then,” Fells replies. “Maybe the previous Covenants took their duties seriously, unlike the current holder.” He takes a sip of his whisky. “I am not even sure what it is that he does,” he finishes.

“Well said,” Morn interjects. “He needs to take his responsibilities to heart, rather than plowing through the galaxy.”

“He’s a Corellian Security Captain—was an elite Ranger, until someone decided we didn’t need them anymore,” Dani says, locking eyes again with Sal. She turns her gaze back to Fells. “You don’t need to know everything that he does for Corellia, just because you have your nose stuck in the gossip rags.”

Morn’s eyes flash. “Oh, so we have finally heard from the Electarine-Caretaker,” she says. 

Dani starts to rise at the tone—a tone dripping with ice. She feels Draq’s hand on her arm. She sits. “Yes. Someone who knows more than anyone here what the Covenant does,” she says.

“I’m thinking that we should have forced the Covenant to take the Signet, rather than this little deal with Draq’s niece. That way we wouldn’t have _outside_ influences,” Fells says, his eyes moving over the crimson skin of her face. 

“Well, the Ensterite has reared its head,” Dani says. “An Ensterite from a pissant turd-farm on Trallus.”

“Enough,” Draq’ says. “We won’t let this degenerate into insults.” He looks at Fells. “Especially about the anointed Elector-Presumptive. You weren’t here when that decision was made. Plus, the Caretaker is my daughter and a Corellian, who has given her blood for this world—something I can’t say for any of you. Just like that Covenant you disdain as a layabout.” He turns to Dani. “But I won’t have a member of this body insulted, Caretaker.”

Dani dips her head quickly in acknowledgement. Fells’ frozen face is expressionless, until Draq’ turns a certain reptilian look on him. A look that has moved worlds in its power. He looks away.

“The fact remains. The majority of this body agrees that we should hold the Covenant to the Betrothal and Marriage conventions,” Kath Morn says, looking hard at her partner in betrothal. “I think that we can override any veto you may make as Head of the Council, Draq’,” she finishes. 

Draq’ looks at Dani. She shrugs slightly. He breathes out. “Then we’ll hold the vote after dusk, by the direction of the _Concordat_ , rather than midnight.” He grins, another in his repertoire of Dragon expressions. “As is my right, I will appoint the Proctor for the Betrothal process.” 

Dani closes her eyes. _Here it comes._

“I appoint Daaineran Faygan as Proctor, to oversee the Covenant during his Impoundment.” The grin widens. “To ensure his purity, as the Article requires.”

The newly appointed guardian of the Covenant’s virtue brings her gaze to the ceiling.

+=+=+=+=+=

Shyla Merricope stifles the cry as she holds her right leg off of the ground, counting the seconds down, along with the timer, until she can lower it. The offending appendage quivers with the effort. She looks to her left, manages to smile as she sees the concern in the gray eyes of the Elector-Presumptive of Corellia, as she holds the former Diktat’s hand tightly. 

The chime on the timer sounds, allowing her to stop. Shyla makes a point to lower the leg slowly to the floor. She feels the weight move from her other leg. She smiles at the other young woman, a bit larger and maybe a tiny bit older than Jamelyn, at least in physical age, rock back to her knees. Shyla is rewarded by another careful smile, one that actually reaches the girl’s eyes—one dark blue, the other the medium amber of her father. Shyla feels Jamelyn’s arms move around her neck. She turns and kisses the little girl on her cheek. She beckons to Talle, who slowly moves to join the embrace.

Laughter explodes from her lips as both girls assault her ribcage under her exercise shirt. She manages to corral both of them to her body, smothering them both against her. She looks up, as she realizes that a pair of large hands are leaving her injured leg. The realization strikes her further as she realizes that he has managed to fit the medical brace to the leg; a brace that sends electrical impulses to the disused muscles. 

She looks into the face of the large male, grateful. Usually the operation entails a great deal of pain and straining, but his gentle touch, combined with the distraction of the two handfuls against her, had allowed the brace to activate without her even knowing it. Shyla smiles into those amber eyes, reaching up and touching his broad cheek. A sardonic, but warm grin plays over his face—a face, that with subtle differences had once been prevalent through the galaxy.

A face that is becoming more unique with every passing month. 

Tarre Tredecima, once known only by a number and designation, rises to his feet. Shyla watches as he holds his hands out to hers. She takes them, and in an instant, she is in his arms. She takes her usual halting steps to the couch and lowers herself to it, bringing the leg up. Tarre gently wipes her face with a towel, then hands her the water bottle. She marvels at the ease of his touch as she downs the contents. She can feel the controlled power in his massive arms; as well as a tiny hint of the constrained violence that he is capable of.

The gentleness is reinforced as he reaches down and accepts his daughter’s hug. After a moment of staring up at him in awe, Jamelyn follows suit. There is a squeak from both of them as Tarre—a name given to him by the leader of an ancient Mandalorian family—one that also claims the current Covenant, pulls the girls to his shoulders, then drops them along his back.

“Thank you, Sergeant,” Shyla says over the giggles of the two upside down, wriggling bundles. “To you and Talle both.”

Tarre grins. “Not a Sergeant anymore, Your Worship,” he says with a hint of snark. “Call me Drop.”

She rolls her eyes at the intentional mangling of her style. “Well, I ain’t a Diktat any more. You can call me Shyla, or Shy,” she replies. Shyla grins, unable to resist.“Of course, if you want to cry my title out in the night, I wouldn’t mind that,” she whispers to him, placing her hand on his chest. She is rewarded by the blush and stuttering reply. 

After a moment, he shakes his head. “Damned Corellians,” he says. “Always flirting around.” His words are punctuated by giggling from his hips where his daughter and the hope of her world hang.

“So, did the Covenant flirt with you?”

He laughs. “Only a little. He knew that he couldn’t handle my greatness,” he says. 

“That’s never stopped him before,” comes a warm voice from the door. Shyla feels the warmth grow at her heart, as well as her middle. She manages to turn as Dani walks in. 

Dani closes the distance. She reaches down to the outstretched arms of Jamelyn, pulls her easily from Drop’s grasp. She kisses her responsibility, then brings her lips to the tiny bit of exposed belly, blowing a raspberry, eliciting more giggles. She moves over to Talle and repeats the move.

“What about me?” Drop asks, “don’t I get one?”

Shyla sees the mischievous grin. “Maybe later, big guy. Stand by, though. My raspberries might rock your world.” Her eyes soften. “Thanks for looking out for these three, Drop. Dr. Hegridhara says you have been a huge help for her.”

Shyla watches as he looks away, a rueful expression on his face. “It’s my pleasure to help, Red,” he says.

Dani reaches up and kisses him. “Could you take the terrible two to get a snack? I need to talk to Shyla.”

As soon as the three are gone, Dani turns to Shyla and falls into her arms. She wrinkles her nose. “Wow, you really stink,” she says to the politician. 

“Well, I couldn’t get Drop to wash my back in the tub,” Shyla says without missing a beat.

“Oh, so I’m your second choice?”

“Maybe even my third or fourth. Is the Covenant available?”

Shyla sees the pained expression in Dani’s eyes. “Come on,” Shyla says. “Let’s get in there. You look like you need to talk.

As Shyla rests against Dani’s front in the tub, she listens to the recitation of the Council meetings. 

“So the Council is buying this whole load of poodoo?” she asks incredulously.

“Yep. Draq’ and I are the ones against it.”

“What do you know about these two?” Shyla asks. “I’ve never even met them.”

“I know. I think that Draq’ knows them, but he’s being tight-lipped. Morn is well known in the sports world. The Trallian is a nobody on Corellia. Both seem to be from different Ensterite congregations, although Morn ain’t exactly devout,” Dani says, referring to the shrinking sect of Corellians—a sect made up of those who accept few beyond their narrow circles. Especially those who might look like Dani.

Shyla curses. “I thought that they were losing power—especially after the Hag’s death and the exposure of her little machinations,” she says, referring to the ex-wife of the last Covenant; the grandmother of Jamelyn. A woman rumored to be the mother of the current Imperial Advisor. She turns slightly in the tub, kissing Dani for a moment or two. 

“So what are we going to do?” she asks when they break free. 

“Well, we have to go through with it,” Dani replies. “We have to figure out how to get around it; or at least make it where Bryne can still do what he needs to do in our little movement.”

“Do you think Sal is behind this?” Shyla asks. “It kind of stinks of her little maneuverings.”

“I don’t know. She came to the meeting, uninvited,” Dani says.

Shyla works to keep her expression neutral as she moves around to face Dani. Apparently she fails, as Dani’s eyes narrow.

“I think that I’ll go talk to her,” Shyla says.

Dani starts to rise. “Oh, hell no. Oh hell no,” she repeats, stretching the middle word out of the phrase. “Last time you went and confronted that evil witch, you wound up nearly dying from poisoning. She touches Shyla’s bad leg as Shyla pushes her back down. “I won’t lose you,” she adds, a hint of desperation in her voice. “Draq’ and I are working on something. Please don’t do this, Shy.

“Promise me,” she says finally.

“Can’t do that, Dani,” Shyla replies. She pulls the younger woman tight to her. “I’ll be careful. I’m an adult, and a former Diktat. She wouldn’t dare try anything again, if she even did the last time. I might stand to gain more than y’all would. We have a bit of a past.”

“I really don’t want to know,” Dani says darkly. She starts to rise from the tub. “I have to go tell Bryne about the Impoundment.” She squeaks as Shyla yanks her back down, then shoves her head underwater for a second.

“Nope. That can wait,” Shyla says, as she pulls Dani up. She kisses the indignant sputtering away.

The struggles to drown each other soon transform into something softer.

+=+=+=+=+=

Delilah Sal sits at the table in her office, sipping whisky, as she waits for dusk. She allows herself a small smile of triumph. She thinks of how the Dragon of Corellia will be tied up in trying to deal with this _gift_. The Advisor is not completely sure who is behind this, but she never looks a gift fathier in the mouth.

The comm dings on the console. “Advisor,” the admin droid starts, “The Viceroy is here to see you.” Delilah sits up, downing the rest of her whisky. She stands and seals the flap on her tunic. “Please send him in.”

She bows slightly as the ever-smiling tanned face and its athletic body walks in. “A bit of a mess, Delilah, dear,” Dupas Thomree, Imperial ruler of the Corellian sector says. He kisses her cheek; the smile actually turns a bit genuine. 

Sal reaches up and touches the slight lines forming around his eyes. 

He shakes his head after a moment. “So what do you know?”

“It looks like the Betrothal process will go forward. Fells and Morn are pushing it.”

“Are you behind this, Del?” he asks bluntly.

“No. But I certainly won’t cry if Bel Iblis is chasing his tail on this. He and his Zeltron bastard.”

She thinks that she may have overstepped as his eyes narrow. “You need to be careful, Advisor,” he says. “Bel Iblis or Dani Faygan would cut you long deep and continuously, if they thought you were trying to harm their family. ISB or no.”

After a moment, she nods. “I know. I probably need to make peace with her.” Her eyes narrow. “Not because I’m afraid of her, though,” she finishes. 

“Of course not, dear.” Thomree says with a grin. The expression hardens. “Continue with this, Advisor. But don’t let it turn into some dynastic pissing match. Tell whoever you find out is behind it, besides those two idiots, that the Emperor will not tolerate disorder on an ordered world.

“I would hate to see you taking the ultimate responsibility for this, Del. The Ending Wall at the Central Keep will not discriminate about whose brains decorate it in the end.”

Delilah says nothing to the threat as he reaches down and kisses her, letting his tongue enter her mouth slightly.

+=+=+=+=+=

Meglann Florlin smiles as she watches Ahsoka and Bryne laugh together at something that he had said. Ahsoka lies against his chest on the opposite end of the couch from her. They are all mostly clothed, resting as close as they can to one another. There had been a couple of moments of increased respirations and heart rates, but mostly the three of them existing—laughing and relaxing. She closes her eyes at the sensation of Ahsoka’s cool hands massaging her feet. She can feel the vibrations of the near-purring sensation as Bryne’s hands move over Fulcrum’s shoulders and neck.

Meglann feels her smile widen as she thinks that they might just be relaxing together to recover from the two weeks of relaxation with Dani’s soon-to-be in-laws on the beaches of Zeltros. She feels herself blushing as she recalls the forms that those ‘relaxations’ had taken for most of their time there.

She moves her feet from Ahsoka’s hands; ignoring the raised eyebrow marking. She swings her feet to the floor and makes to lever herself up. 

“Where are you going, Hammer?” Ahsoka asks, moving to prevent her rise. 

As always, the use of the nickname; or its Corellian avatar, causes her heart to jump as she thinks of her revealed family history. The long talk with her new grandmother, Sulen had filled in many gaps about her father and the man that he was. Therion Dao, son of an adopted human scion of a wealthy Fondor clan of Yardmasters, who had given it all up for a sense of duty. The man that she had never been able to meet. She shakes her head, returning to the present. “You two need some time alone,” she says, raising her hand to still the protests. Meglann allows a grin to form. “You and I might have some time on the way to Etti IV,” she says, her eyes hooded. She reaches over and kisses Ahsoka, then allows her lips to linger on Bryne’s. When they break free, she looks Bryne in his eyes and says, echoing something Ahsoka had once said to him, “Give her a stroke or two for me, King.”

“Nope,” says a new voice. “There will be no stroking of any sort for a while.”

All three turn to the door, their eyes wide. Dani Faygan stands framed in the door, Kris Tome and three other CorSec officers stand there, as well. Meglann manages to reach down and pull her trousers up over her underwear. _Good thing I was wearing it today,_ she thinks wryly.

“Haven’t you learned to knock, Daaineran?” Ahsoka asks, not bothering to cover her legs. 

“Didn’t think that I needed to, dear,” Dani says evenly. She turns and jerks her head at the other three CorSec officers. “Besides, I’m on official business for the Electoral Council.”

Meglann sees Bryne’s eyes narrow. Dani walks over to the couch. She looks around, then speaks in a formal tone that Meglann had never heard before. “Jame _atin_ Blackthorn, annointed Covenant of Corellia, Protector and Defender of Corellia, and by extension the Five Brothers, I hereby inform you that you are now Impounded, in preparation for a formal Betrothal Quest, to carry out your duties under Article 177 of the _Concordat’d Ta´suíl_ and your Acceptance Compact.

Bryne is silent for a moment. “And what, pray tell would those duties be, Electarine?” he asks dryly. 

“To propagate the next generation of _Cu´nan Ta´suíl._ The Covenant-Hope.”

“What the hell does Impoundment mean?” Ahsoka asks. 

“It means that he’s to remain pure for his betrothal. That he’s to have no relations with anyone until his Betrothal and marriage.”

Meglann feels the giggles arise at Bryne’s expression. Ahsoka is fighting hard not to join in, but gives up. Meglann sees that both Dani and Kris are struggling to keep their official expressions even.

“You do realize that I’m not fifteen, right?” Bryne asks, a hint of desperation in his voice. The even tone of his voice is not helped by the fact that Ahsoka chooses that moment to move her ass over his middle.

“Doesn’t matter, sport. The Articles of the Concordat make no allowance for the age of the prospective groom.”

Ahsoka chimes in. “It might take a bit of time-travel to make him a virgin again.” she says, no longer just a hint of amusement in her voice.

“I just did. As Proctor of the Betrothal-Quest, I’ve just declared him so.”

“So does that mean you get to take care of my needs in the meantime?” Bryne asks with a grin.

“Nope. I just get to take care of these two,” she says, her grin matching his. “Your attendant might get to help you out, if you can’t take care of it yourself.” The grin grows devilish. “You’ll meet him in a moment.” She grows serious.

Meglann’s eyes widen as Dani’s gaze falls on her. “Time to go, sweet-cheeks.” The purple gaze shifts to Ahsoka. “You too, hunt-sister.”

Ahsoka’s merriment disappears. “You can’t do this,” she says. 

Dani doesn’t back down, but she reaches out and touches Ahsoka’s cheek. “Yes, dear, I can. He signed a Compact to obey the _Concordat_. He took an oath.”

Meglann is struck by the sadness on everyone’s face. Including her own, she is sure. She sees Ahsoka bring the mask that she has seen before as she draws within. Meglann reaches down and kisses Bryne. She tries to ignore the pain and anger in his eyes.

Her heart clinches as she sees Ahsoka turn and rest her forehead against the Covenant’s. Meglann and Dani turn away, walking out of the room.

She looks at Dani. “Does he have a choice in this? Or is his new bride chosen for him?” she asks. She doesn’t bother hiding the anger in her voice.

Dani remains expressionless, then softens. She pulls Meglann into her arms. “No. He’ll have a choice. But the choice has to be approved by the Council, from among a pool. “We’re working on fighting this, Meglann,” she says.

“Doesn’t look like it,” Meglann replies, pulling away from the older woman. Meglann tries to steel herself from the hurt look in Dani’s purple eyes.

As she turns away, she sees Phygus Baldrick’s diminutive form walk into the room. 

“Hey sport,” he says. “I’m your Attendant. Don’t get the idea that I’m going to take care of your needs. They ain’t paying me enough.”

Meglann feels a giggle rise at her glimpse of Bryne’s dark expression. It fades again when she sees Ahsoka’s face as she leaves the room.


	3. Everything But the Clowns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Covenant puts the Consummation Subcommittee in their place. Fulcrum gets underway; her thoughts remain with Corellia. Nola returns to Naboo; on her feet rather than carried between two former Queens. The Better Angels of the Covenant fail. Another Queen’s bid—a message for the Covenant. The Covenant can be an adult.

Kath Morn rises as the Covenant of Corellia and his Proctor enter the room. Her eyes lock on Slan Fells, who remains seated. She jerks her eyes at him, gritting her teeth. After a half-minute, he rises as well. She sees his eyes widen at the next person who walks through the ornate door of the Audience Chamber of the Elector-Presumptive. 

A person whose height only comes up to the doorknob. “What’s he doing here? This is a private meeting,” Slan sputters. 

Covenant stares at Fells, as if seeing him for the first time. “Did I allow you to speak? Last I checked, I speak first in a room,” he says. 

Morn suppresses her wry smile as Fells stares at him. He closes his mouth and bows his head, ever so slightly. “My apologies, your Eminence,” he purrs smoothly. “But this is a meeting of import. One of the Dragon’s minions should not be here.”

“Well, I actually think that you shouldn’t be here. Nor should I,” Bryne says. “But he stays.” Morn sees one side of his mouth quirk upward, then fall. “Or didn’t you read the fine print of this damned Article that you keep throwing in my face?” He looks down at Phygus, smiling at something out of their view. “I get a Prime Attendant of my choice.” He glances at Faygan. “Or of my Proctor’s choice,” he adds dryly.

Morn watches as Dani Faygan looks away. She files that away for future use; as something to possibly exploit. “Why don’t we dispense with the pleasantries?” she asks. “Councilor Fells and I have several candidates that might be of interest to your Eminence,” she adds smoothly. “Young women of good fam—.”

“No.”

She feels her eyes widen in surprise. “Eminence?” she asks.

“I will not choose any candidates submitted by members of the Council. Especially those who seem to be pushing this whole goddamned thing,” Bryne says. 

“Now wait just a minute,” Fells starts. Covenant locks his eyes on the Tralian; a look that resembles that of someone with a foot about to fall on an insect.

“I get to choose. There may be a pool, but I will not be attached to someone from your Ensterite congregations. There is enough narrow-mindedness in this galaxy without me propagating another bit of it.”

“You can’t—,” Fells starts again.

“Yes I can,” Covenant replies. “You may have to approve my choice, but I’ll make the choice.”

“So our Covenant will be mounting some off-worlder, diluting Corellian bloodlines?” Fells looks at Dani. “Guess you’re following in your father’s footsteps—as well as your uncle’s—.” He stops as he suddenly finds himself on his ass, Covenant standing over him. Morn had not even seen him move.

“I think that you might want to quit while you’re ahead, Slan, old buddy,” Covenant says mildly. “You don’t get to insult my family.”

“I’ll have you arrested for assault. You’re not some King, or something,” Fells manages to get out. Morn sees a slight smile from both Dani and Covenant at that.

“Oh, shut up, Slan,” Morn says. “You’re making an ass of yourself.” She turns to Covenant as they leave Fells to get up by himself. “What do you have in mind, your Eminence?” she asks smoothly.

“I haven’t given it much thought,” he says. “Not on my list of priorities.”

Morn closes her eyes. After a moment, she opens them and looks at Dani. “Proctor, while I recognize the Covenant’s choice in this matter, he does need to take this seriously.”

Dani’s eyes flash at Morn. “I assure you that ‘he’ is, Councilor. ‘He’ is aware of his responsibilities, even piddling little ones that Councilors who’re trying to make a name for themselves—maybe even further their family’s fortunes a bit at his expense, come up with. Plus, ‘he’ is standing right fucking here. You can speak to him directly.”

Morn feels her own anger rise as she faces the Zeltron. “Now look here. This is important for Corellia. The line has been split for so long, that we have no clear line of succession. This is part of his unspoken responsibilities—his responsibilities to the Five Brothers.” She stops as she hears a snort behind her.

“Here I thought that my job was to protect and defend my people and world,” Covenant says. “I guess I’ll get prepared to kriff on command.” His eyes flash. “Should we sell tickets? Will the whole Council need to be in the room, or just you two? I can put on a show,—‘spreading my seed’, as you say, like a champ,” he finishes, the contempt dripping from his voice. Without a further word, he turns and stalks from the room.

Phygus Baldrick walks over to Dani and hands her a water glass filled with a pure, amber liquid. “That went well,” he says, any humidity absent in his voice.

Morn watches as the Proctor of the Betrothal turns the large tumbler up and downs it in only a few swallows. She holds it out to Baldrick for a refill.

+=+=+=+=+=

Ahsoka walks into the cockpit of the old _Consular_. She breathes in the ship’s recycled air, as a wave of nostalgia flows over her memory. She closes her eyes as the wave coalesces into raw emotion—joy, comradeship, love—mixed in with no small amount of pain. The vision of sitting next to a clone Commander, wrestling with the controls as a similar ship falls towards a sun. The pain rises, but is suddenly leavened with the knowledge that the Commander had survived the war, as well as subsequent Imperial service. She wonders where Bly is; where he had gone after leaving Zeltros. Ahsoka knew that his remaining brothers had found refuge on the Land of Song—the name that the loving inhabitants have for their beautiful world.

Thoughts of Zeltros brings her to her present situation. The anger she had felt at Dani and the whole situation had cooled, but the twisted knots of Corellian politics and palace intrigue still gnaw at her. She hears a muffled cough. Ahsoka shakes her head then looks at the control area. 

Murta Locke sits in the co-pilot’s seat. Ahsoka grins as Meglann turns and looks back at her from the command seat—the left side. Boge walks up next to her from his position near the navicomputer and table. 

He grins and nods to the pilot. “Guess we’re ready to go. Everything is buttoned up. Coordinates laid in for Etti IV.” He touches Meglann on her shoulder. “Think we’ll get to meet another set of grandparents, Ensign?” he asks. 

“Don’t know, Slowness,” she says. “Job comes first.” 

Ahsoka sees her eyes move to the nearest dock in the CEC yards. She follows Meglann’s eyes to the ship resting in a graving dock. The _Jamestyn’s Hope’s_ cockpit section is separated, as repair droids work on repairing the massive hole in the bow. Ahsoka feels her incisor worrying her lip. 

Ahsoka realizes that Boge and Murta have left the cockpit. She looks down at Meglann, then slides into the co-pilot’s seat. The former Imperial experiment, R10-X22 trundles into the cockpit, then hooks up to the navicomputer. The meticulous little astromech/gunner droid checks over Boge’s calculations, his transparent dome showing every thought. Deuce appears to be satisfied as he beeps at Meglann.

“Guess Murta trusts you with his baby?” Ahsoka asks.

Meglann smiles. “Guess he has to. I soloed a few days ago. Dani signed off on my taskbook as a command pilot-trainee.” She looks up at Ahsoka. “Still his baby, though. I’m just a borrower.”

Ahsoka sees Meglann’s eyes narrow at her own expression, at the mention of Dani’s name. “Tell me you’re not still mad at Dani over this whole Betrothal thing.”

“I don’t want to talk about it, Meglann,” Ahsoka says. “I don’t want to talk about what it might be doing to him.”

“What about what it’s doing to you?” Meglann continues, pressing forward. “I’m not talking about him. I’m talking about you.”

“Meglann—,” she starts.

“I know, I know,” Meglann says, raising one hand from the throttle. “Whenever the great Ahsoka Tano doesn’t want to talk about something, that’s the end of it.”

Ahsoka feels her anger rise, suppresses it almost as quickly. “It’s not that, ‘glann,” she says. “I just don’t know what to think. I thought this whole Declaration and Acceptance thing would allow him to continue with the fight. If he has to stay on Corellia, then the movement loses a good fighter.”

Meglann rolls her eyes. “Is that really it, Brawler?” she asks. “The ‘movement’?”

Ahsoka focuses on the stars outside of the transparisteel. “That’s what it’s going to be about,” she says firmly. 

As she shifts the hyperdrive levers forward, Meglann locks her gaze on Ahsoka. “Okay. We’ll keep it like that, Ahsoka,” she says. “But you need to get over your anger at Dani. This isn’t her fault. She loves you both, and knows what you mean to each other, hunt-sister.” The stars elongate as she whispers. “Just as I do.”

Ahsoka closes her eyes, reaching out into the Force. There is no comfort in its familiarity to her roiling thoughts. 

+=+=+=+=+=

Nola Vorserrie moves quietly down the old street, her mind and heart twisting at the familiar buildings of the capital city of her birthworld. She reaches her hand up to the hood of her traveling cloak, shifting it over the lower half of her face. The logical part of her knows that the chances of being recognized as a late Queen’s Handmaiden are slim. The chances of being recognized as a resident of this world are even slimmer, as she was born and raised half a world away.

She pauses and glances at herself in the window of a small shop. Nola takes a deep breath as she realizes the changes in the three years or so since she left Naboo; apparently carried between two former Queens who had taken her to Alderaan for her new life. She sighs and turns to the next door, a small, elegant townhouse. A rare smile flows to her features as she takes in the architecture. Architecture so different from the provincial town of her birth. Her father had made sure that even though the headquarters of his construction company was in the capital, she and her brother and sister had grown up in the town of his birth.

Nola raises her hand to knock, not seeing an annunciator button. The door opens before she can bring her hand down. She pulls it back to the back of her belt, her eyes narrowing. She steps in. The door closes behind her; her grip tightens on her blaster.

The grip relaxes as a young woman steps into the foyer. Nola smiles at the crimson, hooded robe of a Naboo Handmaiden. Her eyes widen as she realizes that the young woman is of a height with her. She stares at the dark eyes and wisp of dark hair escaping the hood. A thinner body, a trifle darker skin tone; the young woman is not her exact doppelganger.

Close. 

The Handmaiden walks up and bows. “Nole’, my sister.” she says in a light, whispery voice. 

Nola feels her vision darken at the name. She starts to speak, but refrains, at least for a moment —a trial for her. “I would’ve thought that you wouldn’t recognize me as a sister. Me—the Chief Handmaiden who lost her Queen and all of her sisters, and then didn’t die.” 

The dark eyes with a tiny similarity to hers in color, if not in shape, look to the ceiling before falling on her. “Nonsense. You were never taken from the rolls, dear, even though we guard your true identity as one of our greatest secrets.” She bows again, this time her head. “I am Tele’,” the Handmaiden says. “I bring greetings to you from our Queen, Kylantha. She wishes you good fortune, Nole’.”

Nola holds up her hand. “Please, Tele’,” she says. “Just Nola. I mean no disrespect, but that honorific is painful to me; a reminder.”

Tele’ takes the upraised hand in one of hers, then pulls the other between both . She kisses the knuckles, a familiar gesture of greeting among Handmaidens. After a second, she nods. “As you wish, Lady Vorserrie,” she remarks with a tiny, knowing smile. Nola rolls her eyes at the insistence of using the address. “But I know that no Handmaiden thinks of you as a failure. You or your sisters.”

Nola looks away as Tele’ kisses her cheek. “That’s a matter of opinion,” she says. 

“Why do you think that there is another Handmaiden of our height, with dark hair and eyes, Nola?” Tele’ asks. Her slight smile widens into an even slighter grin. “Or at least near your height.”

Nola doesn’t reply. 

“If you see the other core Handmaidens, including the Chief, Storae’, you might see some familiarity.” She pulls Nola closer. “They intentionally mirror you and your sisters who died that day. There is a set of twins—identical in every way. There is word that we will soon initiate a tiny powerhouse who can jump three times her height straight up in the air and come down on her hands without even a quiver. There are others, but these will be our core.” Tele’ looks away, her own eyes tearing for a moment. “Just like your core group,” she whispers.

Nola closes her eyes as she remembers. She fights the memory of the last sight of the four original young women; of the others. She pulls Tele’ into an embrace, then releases her. “I would dispute that I deserve to be remembered with those fallen,” she says quietly.

She sees Tele’ look behind her, the smile returning. “Someone else would disagree with you, sister.”

Nola feels a pair of arms circle her middle, a pair of manicured hands joining at her waist. She turns, looking down into a laughing face, now bare of the Queen’s makeup and the resultant hyper-serious expression, the pointed chin the most prominent feature. “I see that you’ve met your homage, No-no,” Neyutnee, former Queen of Naboo says. “She’s near the height, but she can’t quite bring the sarcasm off,” she finishes. 

Nola’s first Queen, the young Queen during most of the war, reaches up and kisses her. 

“That’s probably a good thing. I most likely should’ve had it surgically removed,” Nola says dryly. 

“Never. It’s one of the reasons I chose you for the Knot,” Neyutnee says, referring to the unique insignia of the Chief. “Come on—let’s get down to business. We’ll catch up afterwards.” She turns and pulls Nola into another room.

A slightly older woman, her dark eyes similar to Tele’s, appraises Nola from her seat near the fireplace. Nola realizes that a small infant is held to her breast, feeding contentedly. She motions to a chair across from her.

“You’ll forgive me, if I don’t rise, your Grace,” the woman says. “The Lady gets a bit peevish if her meal is interrupted.” She grins, the expression lightening her face—calling attention to the few blue streaks in her hair. “I’m Hana Yung-Shaizan, the _Dai-lin_ of Shaizan Financial. I think that you’re here to discuss some donations to your Foundation.”

Nola keeps her expression still; especially at the financial chief’s next words. “I know what the money will be used for. It’s why I’m meeting you, rather than the Queen. I’m not the Finance Minister, but I might as well be. Gives her some deniability.”

Nola nods. “I understand, _Dai-lin_. Not exactly a step down to the ‘Big Shot’ of the Exalted and Noble House,” she says, using the familiar name for the financial concern and its chief.

“Call me Hana, Nola,” the chief says. She lifts the infant from her right breast and moves her over to the other, unselfconscious at the open top of her business suit. As she does, Nola glimpses the dark cap of hair and elongated eyes of her mother.

She draws a sharp intake of breath as the light hits those eyes in a particular way. She knows that her expression is one of shock as the warm green orbs with slight golden flecks are turned away as the baby latches on again.

Hana nods at her expression, her own unfathomable. After a moment, the _Dai-lin_ smiles. 

“I have a message for him,” she says, pulling an envelope from the pocket of her suit-coat with her free hand. She sets the envelope down and pushes it to Nola. “It’s not one I want to give him, but I don’t have a lot of choice, given my precarious situation, as well as his ‘side-job’.”

Nola stares at her, her mind reeling at the words, with their unspoken revelation.

+=+=+=+=+=

Dani Faygan watches as Bryne Covenant walks into the audience chamber. She smiles hopefully at him; he nods correctly, then walks over to stand next to her. She turns and looks him up and down. He is clad in the short green dress jacket of the Rangers—an organization that no longer exists, rather than in his usual business suit. She smiles at the fit of the white undertunic; the jacket fastened at his throat. The gold lace at the shoulders, the collar, and the sleeves reflect the light of the morning sun. A green-fronted stiff peaked cap is carried under his arm. The blue dress trousers bear the red-on-gold line of the Bloodstripe. Another obsolete gold emblem rests on his chest—the upside down shield of his last rank held—the Chief Ranger. 

The contrast to the gold is the symbol of his title, a silver pair of offset triangles now hanging from the the Chain of the Covenant, its five large links centered on his chest above the talisman. The entire symbol is held by fastenings to buttons on each side of his lapel. Dani feels a warmth grow—in heart and mind, as well as lower parts of her body. She looks down at herself, her own uniform, similar to his except for the purple face on the cap, a longer coat, a skirt, and a higher rank of the Bloodstripe.

She reaches out, straightens his lapels, and pats the symbol. His eyes are guarded, but a slight smile quirks one side of his mouth, in a low-wattage version of his crooked grin.

“I’m sorry, Bryne,” she says. 

He starts to say something, but stops as Morn and Fells walk in, triumphant smiles on their faces. The smiles fade at Covenant’s glare at them. They start to walk over, but the something in his look causes them to change direction and stand opposite him.

Dani looks at Bryne. “Be nice,” she says. “I have to go over and talk to them.”

Bryne merely grunts and turns away, contemplating the portrait over the fireplace.

Fells looks at Dani as she approaches. “You could tell him that he could be a bit more cheerful. This may soon be over.”

Dani ignores him, turns to Kath Morn instead. “So what is this offer?” she asks tersely.

“It’s promising. One of the higher Prydes on Ganthel has made an inquiry. They were already on Corellia. The uncle’s a prominent politician observing some of our business processes. He has a niece that he would like to make a good match for.”

“So he’s here to check my teeth? Is he going to jerk me off to make sure I can produce?” Covenant asks from across the room.

Dani grits her teeth as she turns to him. Her own glare silences him. He returns his gaze to the abstract art.

“Remember. He gets to make a choice,” Dani says, turning back to the two Councilors, her tone hard. “They contacted us, right?”

“Yes, ‘dear’,” Fells says, the mocking emphasis apparent to any who can hear. Dani glances over at Bryne, sees his fists clench. The Covenant looks as if he is fighting to come to a decision; to let the better angels of his nature swell.

The angels apparently fail as Bryne turns and walks over to Fells. “Slan, I don’t think that I’ve ever hit anyone with a corset and a small, multicolored animal at rest on his head, not to mention anyone who has had so much work done on his face. But if there is even the slightest hint of another insult or disrespect to the Electarine-Caretaker, I might start a new character flaw that everybody will be talking about.” His eyes remain calm. “Guess we won’t count when you fell on your ass yesterday.”

The Tralian starts to say something, but looks into Bryne’s eyes and thinks better of it. After a moment, he turns around and leaves the room. Kath Morn looks amused for a moment, then turns and follows him. “We’ll go bring the candidate and her sponsors in.”

As the door closes, Dani turns her gaze on Bryne. “You know, I can take care of myself, bud,” she says.

He nods, his eyes on hers. “Never doubted it, babe,” he says. “But you’re the Electarine-Caretaker—the guardian of the Hope of Our World.” He stops as he realizes that he has very audibly capitalized the trite phrase. “They expect that you will show restraint and decorum. I, however, have already proven that I’m an asshole. Might as well reinforce it.” 

She smiles at the apologetic look in his eyes. 

“Especially since I seem to be an asshole to my loved ones on a regular basis.”

She reaches over and kisses him. “I don’t know. You’re just reacting to a situation that you don’t know how the hell you found yourself in. I don’t know what to do either.”

“Guess we’ll figure it out together, Daaineran,” he says, returning her kiss and holding her tight.

Dani looks down. “I think that I upset Ahsoka. Or, a more apt description would be ‘pissed her off.”

“That’s okay. I do it all the time,” Bryne replies, his lips smiling against hers. He looks down. “She hasn’t commed me, either. She, like us, is probably trying to process what this might mean to our futures.”

The door to the audience chamber opens. The frame is empty for a moment before the candidate steps in.

Dani feels both her and Bryne’s anger spike through her resonance. They break apart to lessen the overspill.

A young girl, her pale skin and hair shining in the light of Corel sifting through the windows, stands watching them. Dani sees the fear and uncertainty in her amber eyes. 

She is all of fourteen or fifteen years old. A man with similar features, hair, and eyes steps in behind her, accompanied by Morn and Fells.

The candidate is dressed in formal gowns and veils that seem to dwarf her.

Dani sees Covenant start towards him. She goes to restrain him, but her hand misses his arm.

He stops in front of them. “I will _not_ be a party to an arranged marriage,” Bryne spits out, the emphasis on the negative almost painful to those present. “Especially to a child.”

The adult Ganthelian, dressed in his own finery, bristles as the girl bursts out crying and runs from the room.

Bryne’s face moves from anger to helplessness as she flees. A half-second before the father draws a large knife.

+=+=+=+=+=

Nola sits in the parlor of the townhouse, her eyes on the heavy cream envelope in her lap. She takes the envelope and places it on the end table next to her. She pinches the bridge of her nose as she looks out at the fading light of the early evening.

The door opens as Neyutnee, now dressed in an incongruous pair of shorts and a tank top, pads in with a pair of filled snifters. Nola smiles and puts the cup of now-cold caf down, taking the brandy.

Neyutnee reaches down and touches Nola’s cheek, allowing her hand to linger. Both of them gaze at one another, thinking of their losses.

The former Queen sits on the couch next to Nola and draws close to her. “Credit for your thoughts, No-no,” she says. 

Nola lifts her arm and pulls Neyutnee in close to her. “Not worth that much, Ney,” she says. She focuses on the warm burgundy polish of the Queen’s bare toes.

“You’re reeling from that little revelation in there, aren’t you.”

“A bit. Just wondering what it means for my friend.”

Ney nods. “I know. I’m not sure if I agree with Hana’s logic, but she knows what the hell her sleazebag husband could put her and Sosha through, if he found out.

“I know that you’re worried about this, Nola, but I need to talk about something else, on behalf of the current Queen,” she finishes.

Nola says nothing; keeps her breathing and her face even. After a moment, she nods.

“Queen Kylantha would like to explore opportunities of putting her name in as a candidate for Betrothal to your Covenant,” she says formally.

Nola stares at her, then bursts out laughing.

+=+=+=+=+=

Covenant walks in next to the young girl. After a moment, she wipes her eyes. The sobs have subsided. She rises. He holds out his hands, motioning her to sit down. He looks at the spot next to her on the marble bench and raises his eyebrows in question. 

She nods, the look of sadness mixed with wariness at him. “Forgive me, your Eminence. I’m sorry that I displeased you. I’ve brought shame to my Pryde and my world.”

He smiles softly, hoping for a reassuring look. “First off, my name is Bryne. Secondly, you did nothing to shame anyone. My anger was at those who brought you here, to arrange a marriage to a man you hadn’t seen.”

“But it’s my duty—,” she starts, the pitch of her voice rising.

Bryne carefully takes her hand in his. “Maybe. But on my world and to me, consent is important. I’m sure if you had a choice, you would rather be married to some of those boys or girls of your own age who are undoubtedly falling all over themselves to catch your eye.” 

She giggles, visibly relaxing. “There are a few, Bryne,” she says, a slight smirk on her face.

“I figured,” Bryne says. “May I have the honor of your name, my lady?” he asks.

The musical giggle sounds again. “My name is Paoli, of the Land-Pryde of Avyntar. My friends call me Pags.”

He releases her hand, then offers his to shake. “Pleased to meet you, Pags, if I may call you that. You can call me King, or Bard, if you like. I answer to most anything.”

She nods, then grows serious. “But I thought my uncle challenged you to a death-duel,” she says.

“That’s been taken care of, dear,” a new voice says. 

Pags rises as the Conyl-Regent of Ganthel, Sloane Conlyn walks in the room, accompanied by Dani and the Terrible Twosome. Morn and Fells look as contrite as they can. 

Bryne rises and bows, a wide smile on his face. “Hello, Senator,” he says, using the title that she prefers. He notices that Paoli’s uncle, the Avyntar stands behind her, avoiding his eyes. Bryne’s smile widens as he puts that down to the fact that Sloane’s Guardian, Behntu, holds the noble’s collar in his large and pale ham-fist. Behntu grins at Bryne and nods.

“We set out for Corellia as soon as we heard of this little misadventure. We take the administration of titles and responsibilities very seriously—especially in Regency,” Sloane says, taking Pags’s hands in hers. “Your uncle knows that he can no longer marry off the Pryde-True to a higher ranking family, just so he can claim the title.”

Sloane kisses the girl’s cheek, looking at her fondly. “I would echo what I wager the Covenant told you,” she says, smiling at Bryne. “You’re a credit to your family, but you deserve your own choice.” She glares at the uncle. “That’s why I’ll be taking over the guardianship of your title, Pags.” She grins. “I’ve always wanted a little sister, even an adopted one.” Paoli’s smile nearly overwhelms them all with its brightness. 

“Could you go with the officers, my dear?” Sloane asks, gesturing towards two CorSec officers. “I have some business to attend to.”

Pags nods, then reaches and pulls Bryne into a tight embrace. 

“You’re going to break some hearts in a few years, Pags,” he says into her ear. “You deserve all of the happiness in the universe, I think. Not tied to some old guy that you didn’t choose.”

“Yeah,” Dani says. “He’s over thirty. Pretty decrepit, if you ask me.”

Bryne rolls his eyes at Paoli’s bright giggles.

Sloane watches as the girl and her uncle, now under escort, leave the room. Fells and Morn take the hint from the glares of Bryne and Dani and leave, as well.

Bryne looks at Sloane. “So I guess No-no got an agreement out of you on those other matters?”

“Yes,” the Senator says. “She can be quiet persuasive.” She looks at Dani. “Said that she used some Zeltron techniques, whatever that means.”

Bryne sees Dani’s sculpted eyebrow rise. The Conyl-Regent turns to Bryne. She looks him up and down.

He returns the look, lingering on the parts not covered by the drapes and veils, before returning his gaze to her eyes. 

“Yes,” she says. “Nola gave me quite an in-depth description of you while we were resting from, ah, _negotiating_ , when this whole Betrothal thing was announced. We didn’t get much of a chance to speak when you were dealing with Meglann.” Her eyes soften. “I understand that she’s finding her way?”

“Yes, Senator,” Bryne says. “She’s doing well.”

Sloane nods. She lifts her hand to his chest. “Nola was right about you and your sense of honor. Thank you for treating young Paoli with respect. 

“If I didn’t have a world to get back on an even axis, I might consider going to the watering hole with you.” She gives him a hooded look. “Just to see if other things Nola said were true.”

Bryne feels his face’s temperature rise—he doesn’t need to know her world’s euphemisms to know her meaning. “Of course, by Ganthelian tradition, as with any candidate for the Conyl’s bed, you would have to be _examined_ by my Guardian,” Sloane adds, her ebony features creasing with merriment as she turns to leave.

Bryne looks over at the massive Guardian, who is apparently starting with a visual examination. Bryne gives his most charming smile. Behntu winks before turning to follow his Conyl.

Dani moves to Bryne and embraces him. “You’ve had a busy day, sport,” she says. “Maybe you’ve had enough excitement for one day. Since you’re so old, you probably need a nap. If you’re really good, maybe the Proctor of the Betrothal can tuck you in,” she says suggestively.

“I thought that those precious rules said you couldn’t,” he says darkly. 

“Screw it. I’m the Proctor. I’m all powerful. After careful examination of the _Concordat_ , I’ve discovered that I can just declare you a virgin again tomorrow,” she says, a hint of laughter in her purple eyes once again. “Or at least it doesn’t say I can’t,” she finishes.

Bryne shakes his head. “A true _Draq’alyn_ ,” he whispers. _Daughter of the Dragon_. He opens his mouth to question further, but closes it as another voice breaks in.

“Perhaps the excitement’s not over,” says a voice with a distinct and familiar Corellian inflection.

Bryne closes his eyes, then turns.

Delilah Sal stands flanked by Kath Morn and Slan Fells. The Imperial Advisor is not clad in her customary white tunic. Instead, she wears a flowing gown of deepest purple, with gold trim, that leaves her strong shoulders and arms bare, as well as dips down in back and front.

“I submit myself for examination for Betrothal to the Covenant,” she says, her dark eyes tracking appreciatively up and down his body. Her eyes linger at his middle.

It is Bryne’s turn to hold Dani back from advancing on a candidate or their sponsor. Advancing with the intent of causing grievous bodily harm.

Delilah Sal’s pink tongue pokes through her lips suggestively. With his free hand, the one not engaged in holding an angry Zeltron-Corellian back, Bryne reaches for the bottle of whisky, bringing it to his lips and pulling the cork before splashing several fingers in a tumbler one-handed.

The only sound is the cork bouncing off of the wall, where he has launched it from between his teeth.


	4. The Price of Whisky in Coronet City

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Burning daylight and embarrassing the crew. Mothers. And Fathers. Family debates. A new world for the Hammer. Imperial date night.

Boge M’Faru moves into the ship’s lounge, shaking his head as he sees the tall figure at the large windows, staring out into annihilation. He walks into the galley, which adjoins the lounge and sniffs appreciatively. 

Meglann stands in front of the range, adding spices to the large pot. Boge walks up, picks up a spoon and dips it into the sauce. He manages to escape the slap to his hand, blowing on the sauce and downing it, to keep from suddenly wearing the frying pan that rests near the stove, unused. Unused for cooking, that is.

“You know, I still need to practice shooting, big guy. I don’t think I could miss you, as slow and as big as you are,” she says. She pats the A280 pistol module on her hip.

“So do you wear that thing to bed? Just like you were probably wearing that rank-plaque and your shiny new wings on your jammies?” For an instant, he sees the blush on the young woman’s face, before she turns her gaze back on him. He waits for the onslaught from the Fulcrum/Dani/Nola-apprentice.

“Don’t wear pajamas, Slowness,” she says, her eyes sparkling. “Besides. The leather chafes on my hips.”

“There it is. Waiting for the smartass to show up.” He grins. “You think I might get to find out about that or not?”

Meglann punches him on his arm. “I would’ve thought you got worn out in college with all those yell-squad members and other smashball groupies around.”

A flush moves over his dark skin. He looks away, then down. Meglann raises her eyebrows.

She doesn’t push. Instead, she turns to her sauce. 

After a moment, Boge looks to Fulcrum. During all of the banter, she has not turned to Meglann’s voice. In the short time that he has known all of them—Covenant, Meglann, Dani, Nola, and Fulcrum—they had been easy with each other—usually laughing, even in the direst circumstances. The care is evident among them all. 

He takes a deep breath, moves his eyes to Ahsoka as Meglann turns back to him. “I know how it is. You might be the one getting worn out.” He regrets it the instant that he says it, as he sees the shadow over her face. 

Meglann looks over at the figure at the port. “Wouldn’t know,” she says, turning away.

Boge suddenly remembers why he became a stuttering fool when any interpersonal relationships were discussed, or overtures were offered to him by those groupies. He closes his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Hammer,” he says quietly. “I’m pretty damned socially inept.”

She turns, then pulls him into an embrace. “No, Boge. It’s okay,” she says into his ear. “She just has to deal with some things. Just wish she would let someone in to help.”

Boge nods, content at the feel of Meglann against his chest in the galley. “Yeah, well. She and Covenant are peas in a pod. Lots of folks stare out at hyperspace on this boat. Think I’ve said it before. Sometimes it takes somebody like Dani to walk over to them, grab them by certain parts and make them laugh.”

“You do know that she can hear every word you’re both saying, right?” comes a dry voice from the figure silhouetted against the backdrop of hyperspace.

“Yep,” the ex-Peacekeeper says. “Why do you think I said it?”

He breaks free from Meglann, looks at Fulcrum as she turns towards them for the first time. “Might be time to grab some of those parts, Ensign,” he says. He turns and walks off, whistling decidedly off-key.

+=+=+=+=+=

Meglann sees Ahsoka take a deep breath, then move towards the galley. She puts down the spoon and meets her halfway. She pulls Ahsoka into a deep embrace.

She hears the squeak as her hand moves down to Ahsoka’s ass. The blue eyes narrow, then form into a Smirk, before she yields to the embrace. Meglann’s other hand moves down to join the other, both squeezing slightly.

“Sorry, ‘glann,” she says against Meglann’s neck. “Just trying to concentrate on the mission.”

“Don’t have to, Brawler,” she replies. “Every indication is, that you can multitask.” Her hands relax and caress. “Let’s go for more than two things at a time.” 

“Meglann, much as I’d like to, I have to get ready for this mission. I’m waiting on Ano to confirm something—,” Ahsoka starts. 

Meglann silences her with a kiss. “We’ve got four more hours in hyperspace. Since we’re making up for lost time—,” at this, she looks down her nose at Ahsoka, “I’ll settle for about an hour of making you see some real stars, a couple of hours of sleep, then we’ll figure out the plan in the shower.” She kisses Ahsoka a second time. “We can be a bit flexible in our time frame.”

“Not sure that you want Drop and the others in the shower, for planning,” Ahsoka says, her eyes narrowed.

“Details, sweetie. Details,” Meglann says. She flips Ahsoka around and shoves her towards the hatch. “You’re burnin’ daylight,” she says, echoing someone else. Someone else whose current predicament is in the forefront of both of their minds.

Ahsoka stops, turns around and brings the index and middle fingertips of her left hand to her brow and flips it out towards Meglann. “Aye, aye, Ensign,” she says.

Meglann grins sheepishly, then twists around, reaches over and turns down the sauce. “Hey Deuce,” she says to the astromech. “Try not to let it burn this time.”

The sound that emits from the droid’s speaker can only said to be uncomplimentary to both of their parentages as they walk hand in hand the short distance to the cabin.

_+As usual, the loyal astromech is left to pull everything out of the fire, while the meatbags go off to see who can make each other scream and say nonsense words louder.+_

_+At least it will be peaceful in here+_ , she thinks to herself.

+=+=+=+=+=

Covenant watches the little girl hug her mother tightly to her. His eyes soften as Ala Gainsefield-Blackthorn, one of the last survivors of the Elder Family of Serenno, mother of the Elector-Presumptive of the Five Brothers, returns the hug with one arm. He smiles as he thinks of the last title; the only one that she acknowledges. He closes his eyes as he sees the jagged scar across her face. The last gift of her grand-Uncle, Count Dooku. _No. Not the last_. She looks at him from over Jamelyn’s honey-colored hair, her piercing blue eyes still strong, in spite of her brittle skin and fully white hair. 

The last gift is the twice-weekly bacta treatments—treatments that ensure that she can see her daughter every week. The result of a degeneration caused by the tendrils of the Sith’s Force lightning that played over her and his half-brother, Garen. He takes a deep breath as the memories cascade. 

Dani, her arm broken, but still fighting, Drop, and his other Republic Commandos watching, as he faced Dooku. The feel and sensation of Elle Jaquindo standing next to him, their lightsabers ignited. Both of them preparing to face one of the most noted Jedi duelist of any age.

“Come on, Jame,” Ala says, using his birthname, known only to a few. “I know you’re remembering. You and Elle saved us. You gave us a life.” She smiles, kissing the little girl on her forehead. “You gave us a life, to create this one.”

He smiles. “No. That was all you.” He looks down. “Garen saved someone’s life who is dear to me. Part of that life that I can’t talk about.”

She nods. “I only got a glimpse of her, as I was holding Garen.” She shakes the tears away. 

“So. It seems like Corellia needs your services, Jame,” Ala says with a grin, her voice growing just a bit stronger as she holds her daughter. Jamelyn shifts her eyes to the datapad in her hands as she turns around in her mother’s lap in the hoverchair. “Think you’re ready to perform?”

He rolls his eyes. “Everybody seems to think that I should whip it out and dance to the tune,” he says sourly. He feels his eyes harden; he shakes his head to calm himself. “For Corellia.”

She beckons him over. He gets up and moves, crouching next to her. With an effort, she lifts her weakened right arm, placing the twisted hand’s fingers against his cheek. “Do you think that you should?” she whispers. 

“I guess so,” he says, his eyes downcast. “Corellia did take me in. Gave me a life. A purpose. It might be time to pay the piper.”

She shakes her head. “No. You don’t owe Corellia your happiness. Your family took you in, because that’s what families do, not just because of the Dragon’s plans.

“I saw you willing to give your life for Garen and me. A man who had tried to kill you; who disdained you as a bastard, from his mother’s brainwashing. You and Elle were both willing to die for us. For her love—and for Dani.” Her smiles grows. “Another one who was willing to kill or die as well. For the light.”

She takes a sip of water, then kisses Jamelyn’s hair. She looks at her daughter for a long moment, then focuses that intense gaze on him. “Do what you need to do, for your happiness. For the happiness of that young woman that doesn’t exist.”

“What about you, Ala?” he asks, changing the subject. “Heg says you’re doing well, but he doesn’t know what else he can do.”

She shakes her head. “I’m doing better than I expected to be. I’m not in pain. I get to see my little girl every week, even though I can’t lift her in my arms. I get to see my beloved brother-in-law and my husband’s cousin.” He reaches down and kisses her cheek. “I’m very happy,” she says. He sees her close her eyes. “I miss Garen, though. Every day.

“Find a way, Jame,” she says, looking up at him. She looks to her left and smiles warmly at the entrance to the small yard of her sanctuary.

Dani stands framed in the gate, her face pensive. Jame returns her look. He feels a tap on his forehead from Ala’s left hand. “Get over it, you two,” Ala says as Jamelyn hugs her tightly. “Life is too short.”

He takes Jamelyn’s hand and walks towards Dani. 

As they leave, Ala looks thoughtful. She reaches under the blanket with her good hand and pulls a comm. She manages to tap in an almost-forgotten code.

A voice sounds in the speaker. “Hey,” Ala says. “I need your help. Need you to start looking back into some history.” She rolls her eyes at the reply in her earpiece. “I know you don’t do that anymore, but this is important. It’s for family.”

+=+=+=+=+=

Drop takes a deep breath then stares at the unfamiliar wood of the main cabin’s door. He remembers the spotless gray paint of this same door from the ship’s previous life.

He fights and pushes the memories away—memories of waking the ones within—of the chaos that usually ensued from a knock. Drop grins. _The days of high adventure,_ he thinks, remembering an opening line in one of those endless texts on Corellian history that he read out of self-defense; from being around Croft.

Drop knocks once on the wood and pushes in. As his eyes adjust to the dim light, he hears whispered mutterings and cries from the large bed—much larger than the narrow bunk that had previously occupied one side of the bulkhead.The grin grows wider as he gets the same reaction as those days before. He hears a squeak from the left side of the bed.

Meglann jumps away from her position on top of the other resident in the bed, scrambling for covering. Said other resident of the bed, narrows her blue eyes—eyes that are calm, but just might have a hint of fire in them. Ahsoka makes no move to cover up, but glances over at the furiously blushing younger woman, the sheets now pulled up over her chest. Meglann’s eyes begin to build the fire of their own.

“Usually, you wait until someone says ‘come in’,” she says.

“Not on a naval vessel, _Ensign_ ,” he says, the grin remaining on his dark-bronze features. “Besides, it wouldn’t be the first time I found a naval officer hauling the ashes of a Jedi— _so sorry, not-a-Jedi_ —in this cabin.”

He ducks as a pillow, thrown with surprising speed and accuracy, strikes his forehead. Drop raises his eyebrow. “Not bad, there, Hammer,” he says. “Might make blaster practice and then hand-to-hand easier, knowing you have some hand-eye coordination.” The grin grows into a smirk. “I’m sure Fulcrum has already discovered that you know how to use your fingers.”

“I’m sure that there’s a point to you coming here, right, _Private_?” Ahsoka asks dryly. 

He sees that Meglann is grinning at him. He realizes that the temperature of his face has increased at the fact that Ahsoka is now rising from the bed, taking her time to pull her underwear up. 

The grin bubbles into open laughter as he averts his eyes. “Such a cute blush, big guy,” Meglann says. “Did you blush as much when that other Jedi stood up? Back in the day?”

“Hell no. I usually laughed at his shiny parts,” he says, averting his eyes as Meglann decides to stand as well.

He focuses at a neutral point on the bulkhead. “Ano just let me know that she’s found something on Fondor.”

Ahsoka finishes pulling the tank top over her lekku. “Yeah?” is all that she says.

“She sliced into Fondor’s Yardframe, based on the intel she managed to get from the Kuat files—the master traffic control section. A Nebbie matching the descriptors from your crew’s accounts, as well as the engine signature from the sensor logs, put into one of the orbital Yards.”

“Which one?”

“Dao & Aspeff.”

He hears a noise from the other side of the bed. He glances over, turns back, as he glimpses Meglann holding her trousers, not moving. Before he turns away, he sees her eyes widen at the name of the Yard.

He shoves the look into the recesses of his mind, concentrating on his report. “She says the timeframe matches up for a hyperspace jump from where the _Hope_ was attacked.”

She looks at Drop, thoughtfully. “I think that we’ll continue on to Etti IV; see if we can clear that lead first,” she says after a moment. “You’ve been looking into the registry?”

“Yep. Appears that somebody might’ve skipped out on a payment or two on that registry.”

Ahsoka nods absently, turning and studying the emotions chasing each other on Meglann’s face.

He turns to leave. 

“Thanks, Drop,” Ahsoka says. He sees a curious look flow over her features. “So how come Ano didn’t come tell me herself, or as usual, text me?”

His grin returns. “We knew what you were probably doing in here. I drew the short straw.”

Just as the door closes, he looks back. He sees Ahsoka holding Meglann, her hand moving gently over the smooth back, as Meglann’s head rests on her shoulder, her eyes distant as she stares at a point in hyperspace.

+=+=+=+=+=

Dani Faygan sits next to Bryne Covenant, her hand in his, her other stroking the back of the claimed hand. She watches his eyes track on the familiar stars between Drall and Corellia, as they leave the small out-of-the way farm, outfitted with the latest in medical technology that Ala now calls home.

Jamelyn had immediately fallen asleep, resting against Bryne’s shoulder, as he carried her to the ship. Dani glances at the hatch to the rear compartment, making sure to listen for any cries that signals a nightmare or sadness—the usual results of a visit to her mother. Dani shakes her head. The sadness wouldn’t last, with a child’s ability to compartmentalize—especially now that Talle spends time on Corellia. She closes her eyes, allowing the doubt to creep in around her consciousness, as she always does. Doubt that she can provide the girl with what she needs as a guardian—all while trying to fight a very cold war against the Empire.

Dani feels the intake of breath from beside her. She tightens control on her emotional resonance, opening her eyes. A pair of green eyes are focused on her, their warmth cutting through to her _gere_ —the highest level of the Zeltron soul. 

“You’re exactly what Jamelyn needs, Daaineran,” he says quietly. “She knows it. Everyone knows it.”

Dani looks away, so that he can’t see the bit of dampness in her eyes. She feels him touch the skin under her eyes, bringing some of the moisture that has escaped away.

She reaches over and kisses his cheek, then moving over to his lips. “Damned Jedi. Stay out of my head,” she snarks. 

“Only if you stay out of other places with your hoodoo,” he replies.

“You love it and you know it,” she says.

“Maybe.” He grows serious. “Stop doubting yourself. You’re so full of love. I can’t wait to see what she grows into—between you and Ala, she’ll be an incredible Elector and person.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell her for months, but does she listen to me?” Draq’ Bel Iblis’s gravelly voice sounds from the hatch of the cockpit.

Dani feels the temperature in the comfortable cabin drop several degrees as Bryne’s eyes lock on the Dragon. He starts to rise, but Dani pushes down on his thigh with their interlinked fingers.

Draq’ sits across from them, returning Bryne’s baleful stare. “So have you given any thought to Delilah’s offer?” he ripostes without pause.

“No, actually, I haven’t,” Bryne says evenly. “Hasn’t even crossed my mind.”

Dani feels him tense even more.

“Maybe it should. You could do a lot of good if you’re keeping a close eye on her. Maybe you can manipulate her for some good.”

“Never mind that I’m stuck here on Corellia, not fighting the fight.”

Draq’s blue eyes turn icy. “How do you know that you wouldn’t be? There are other ways to fight the darkness, Jame,” he says. 

Bryne’s eyes flash with the opposite of ice. “Oh, so you’re going to lock me into being the stud of the Rebellion, fucking my way to victory?”

“Well, everybody uses their strengths,” Draq’ replies dryly.

Dani sees Bryne recoil slightly. “So that’s what you see me as? You, who were so glad to get your pet Jedi?”

Draq’ pauses. Dani can see the hurt in his eyes, but being the Dragon, he doesn’t back off. “No. That’s nowhere near what I see you as. I see you as the Covenant of Corellia—the protector of his world. A protector who does what is necessary for the Five Brothers.” He bores ahead. “Is this really about not being able to fight? Or is it the fact that you won’t be able to fight with Ahsoka as much.”

Dani sees the warning signs in Bryne’s body; as the muscles tighten and he closes up.

Draq’ probably sees them as well, but chooses to ignore them. “This really doesn’t encumber you. This whole hunt-brother thing allows you to pretty much screw who you want.” He looks at Dani. “Including, I might add, my daughter.”

Dani stands up, her skin flushing a darker crimson and her eyes transitioning to obsidian fire. “You old bastard. You leave me and what I do out of it. I’m an adult. You didn’t seem to have a problem when you were on my world and with my mother’s nature.

“I love you,” she says. “But sometimes you lock on the big goddamned picture and you forget how it might affect your loved ones.”

She turns and stalks to the rear sleeping compartment. 

+=+=+=+=+=

As the hatch closes, Draq’ slumps. “She’s not wrong,” he says.

“Yep,” Bryne agrees. 

“I don’t know what to do, Bryne,” he says. “For the first time in forty years, I’ve been blindsided.”

Bryne nods. “I know. We plan to fight the Empire; to be spies or whatever, and all of a sudden, I’m sidelined by a goddamned marriage law.” He closes his eyes, then shakes his head. “I have a date with Sal. Tonight.”

Draq’s eyes flash. “You knew this all along?”

“Yep,” Bryne repeats with a grin. “Just like seeing how big of an asshole you can actually be.”

Draq’ says nothing as Bryne feels the warmth for the old man rise, in spite of himself.

+=+=+=+=+=

Ahsoka watches as Meglann breathes in the air of Etti IV, another new world for the young woman. After the inhalation, Meglann opens her eyes and looks around at the capital city, taken in all of the exotic sights. Ahsoka smiles slightly. Exotic for someone who had never been off of her birthworld until six months ago.

She looks around at the spaceport. She curls her lip a bit at the sights. Unlike the hustle and bustle of other worlds she had visited—even Core worlds such as Alderaan and Corellia, worlds in which the spaceport had been a window into the worlds they served; this port was antiseptic—sterile, even. The denizens moving around the manicured walkways barely spoke to one another as they hurried to and fro, or wandered aimlessly on the streets. She pulls the scarf-hood tighter over her facial markings, as two brown-armored Security Police, or Espos, as they were known, stand on a platform watching the traffic. 

She shakes the memory of her dealings with two sterling examples of their kind on a luxury liner en route this very world. The memory of kneeling in an airlock as Leve Stane carefully placed a blade against her throat swells to the front of her mind. Mind-images of the Mirialan women’s vivisected body lying on a peaceful, joyous world, intersperses with that of a holo of her husband’s body in a Corellian morgue. Jaze Stane, the Corellian corpse, had been dispatched by Senator Riyo Chuchi when he had tried to murder her. 

For a moment, Ahsoka allows the pain to flow through the Force for the deaths. She and the Force had been the instrument of Leve’s death on Zeltros—just as the woman had given the command to riddle Dani and her with blaster fire. Just before she was about to give her stormtroopers free rein to ravage that same peaceful world.

She opens her eyes as she feels a touch on her arm. She smiles into Meglann’s concerned eyes. 

“You okay, Brawler?” Meglann asks.

“Yep. Five-by-one.” Ahsoka grips her shoulder for a moment, then turns to the larger and then the smaller member of the crew. “Hey, Balor, you know the drill. So who’s this contact you found?”

“A skip-tracer. Specializes in finding ships. Name of Spray.” He hands her a datachip. “Meet him there. He apparently has some business in the public area of the Capitol complex. The visitor center cafe. That’s the recognition frequency. Don’t know what he looks like.”

She looks heavenward. “So you agreed to have me meet in the center of Espo-land, with a contact you’ve never met, looking for a bunch of missing warships? Why don’t you put a billboard on me that says ‘rebel ex-Jedi’?”

“Didn’t think it would match your eyes,” Drop says calmly. “Believe it or not, the cafe is outside of the security grid. Maybe you can go in and take the time to send Meglann in to explore some of the scintillating exhibits on democracy in the visitor center.” He grins at them both. “I bet she’s a ‘read every line of every exhibit’ type.”

He grunts as the fist of the ‘student’ connects with his chest. A giggle comes up from around his hips. He looks down at his daughter, then at Meglann. He manages not to rub where she had punched. _Guess she has listened in some of the hand-to-hand sessions. Looks like increasing the gravity in the exercise room is working on the strength as well_. He grins to himself. _Maybe I’ll actually tell her about that, someday_.

“If you two could stop with the grabass, we could have this whole thing over and done with,” Fulcrum says.

“Yeah. If we hurry, we can be back in time for Covenant’s wedding,” Drop says with a smirk.

“Asshole.” Ahsoka says. “You’re not helping.”

He grins, then touches her face. “That’s ‘cause I ain’t worried, Mouse,” he says. “He’s not as big of a dumbass as we give him credit for. He’ll figure a way out of it.”

Ahsoka can only nod. Talle reaches over and squeezes her middle briefly, and is gone.

+=+=+=+=+=

Bryne takes a deep breath and rises as the woman enters the quiet dining room. He sees the other patrons follow suit as they recognize her. She nods at them, waves her hand nonchalantly. Her dark eyes flash as she realizes the diners are still standing. Bryne smirks as he motions for them to sit. The men and women dip their heads and return to their meals; at least one eye and ear on his table. 

He takes in the sight of the Imperial Advisor walking towards his table. She wears a short black cocktail dress, the thin straps standing out against her slightly tanned and freckled skin. A dark purple wrap circles her upper shoulders and arms. The reddish-blonde hair falls softly on top of the wrap. She gives a broad smile, her eyes softening, taking him in. If he didn’t know her history, or her occupation, he would be charmed by the laughter that has appeared in her eyes. 

As he is pushing her chair in, he glances at himself over in the mirror. The dark gray suit, with its long coat, over an open, dark blue shirt would pass inspection for this occasion. He feels his eyes narrow as his eyes fall on the symbol of what has brought him to this moment. In his mind’s eyes, he feels Dani Faygan’s warm hand patting it into place, as he passes her inspection. He recalls her words. _Remember, my brother-of-the-heart. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. Although the Impoundment Orders do allow for the prospective betrothal, to uh, try before they buy, you don’t have to_. She had kissed him, then smirked. Besides. _You can use the Force. Give her a memorable night, in her mind, at least._

He starts as Delilah reaches out and touches his hand, turning it palm up and running her thumb over it. He is surprised at the tenderness of the gesture, coupled by a warm smile.

She gives voice to his expression. “Don’t act so surprised, Bryne,” she says. “Everything that you’ve heard from your cousin—it’s not necessarily true.”

“I don’t know,” he says. “A certain threat of having her brains splattered all over the Ending Wall by a slugthrower might influence her advice to me,” mentioning the traditional Corellian method of execution, from the distant past.

Sal manages to look contrite. “Yes. There is that,” she replies. “Can we just call it a misunderstanding? In the heat of the moment?” She interlaces her fingers through his, squeezing them. “She did assault me. Some of the bruises are just now fading.

“In spite of all that, Bryne, I have a tremendous amount of respect for Dani. Perhaps when this marriage goes through, you can bring us closer.” Something flashes in her dark eyes, as she raises his palm to her lips. He raises his eyebrow as he feels her tongue on his palm, just after a brief kiss. The statement of certainty on the marriage is not lost on him.

He notices something else crosses her features. “Dani might do better in her choices of lovers,” she says. His eyes flash. She shakes her head. “No, Bryne. Don’t let this ruin the evening. Shyla is a good person. It’s just that she isn’t the paragon of virtue that everyone says she is. Especially in how she deals with stress and pressure.”

After a moment, he nods. “Okay,” he says. “We’ll stop talking about Dani.” He gently rescues his hand as the server and her droid come over to the table. They pick up their datapads. Bryne notices that her eyes remain on his as she scans the choices.

Delilah downs the after-dinner brandy that he had ordered for her appreciatively. She smiles. “Can we do without dessert? I already have something cooked up in my hotel room,” she says.

“Oh yeah?” he asks. 

“Yeah. The centerpiece is a little Corellian-Mandalorian snack.” She runs her tongue over her lips. He hears another diner, perhaps one who should be paying more attention to her own companion, gasp at the predatory gesture.

Bryne downs his own drink, then holds his hand up. “Check, please.”

As they leave the dining room, with all eyes upon them, he searches his memory of all of the parts of the Jedi Code and its stipulations—the Rule of the Order. Nothing jumps out at him in this particular situation. He sends a thought to his Master’s memory. _Is it inappropriate to use the Force to manipulate someone to not have sex?_

Ti’s voice, as always, is stilled. But in his memory, he can hear her dry, melodious voice in his mind, with a bright hint of laughter. _When have you ever turned this down before, my Padawan?_


	5. Close Your Eyes...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A museum visit. The Corporate Sector demands its due. The in-laws. The Return of Mustache-Boy. The Morning After. Heights—it had to be heights.

Ahsoka watches the small crowd in the cafe as she sips her caf—her fourth cup in two hours. She feels the pressure in her bladder, but knows that if she gets up to use the ‘fresher, the contact will appear. She is sure that this is one of the laws of the universe in running a rebel movement.

She glances at the exit of the visitor center, seeing a familiar face walk out. She Smirks as Meglann walks over to her table. “Every line, right?” she asks.

“Lotta propaganda about how great the Corporate Sector Authority is,” Meglann says, refusing to rise to Drop’s suggestion and snark. 

Ahsoka allows her expression to warm. “Learn anything?” she simply asks. 

“A bit. Reading between the lines, a lot of danger for democracy and republicanism if you’re not careful,” Meglann replies. “Any sign of Drop’s skip-tracer?”

“No. Not yet. Here,” Ahsoka says, handing her the ‘pad with the datacard in it. “You know the drill. I need to pee, before these flowerpots start calling my name.”

Meglann grins, taking the device. “I got your back. You could’ve signaled, if your eyeballs were floating. Or,” she says, looking down her nose, “cut back on the caf.”

“We all make our sacrifices for the education of the next generation,” Ahsoka recites in a sonorous voice.

As she turns away, Ahsoka feels, rather than sees the gesture from the younger woman.

Fifteen minutes later, after the eternal debate in her mind over the propriety of the use of Force-suggestion on the crowd in front of her in the line, Ahsoka walks back to the table. She stops.

Meglann is talking to a small, furry being, who peers up at her, as if struggling to see her face from his vantage point. The being climbs up into the chair across from her. Meglann’s eyes lock on hers. She smiles.

Apparently her new friend is close enough to see Meglann’s expression. He turns, his eyes trying to focus on Ahsoka. Ahsoka stops, her memories surging to over a year ago. To a sabacc table on a slow-moving luxury liner. An hour or so before she would kneel in the airlock, a blaster at her head, then a knife to her throat. 

The Tynnan’s buck teeth worry his lip as his eyes manage to lock on hers, then travel upwards where her montrals are concealed. Her Force-sense pulses at the base of her skull.

She feels a hard, metallic object press into her spine, right at the base. She closes her eyes as her mind moves to visualize the mechanism. 

“Don’t, little girl,” says a dry voice. A voice now cutting through a less distant memory. A memory of a gunman on Alderaan, clutching his wounded weak hand hand and shoulder to his chest, as he lay on the ground, wounded from his own blaster. A blaster she had yanked from his hand as he drew on her. “Look,” he says. 

She feels her eyes narrow as she sees four brown-uniformed Security Police surrounding the table behind Meglann. The NCO holds his pistol on her head. Ahsoka’s heart sinks as she sees the apology in her face.

She turns her head slightly, to stare into the icy eyes of the gunman. The thick drooping mustaches twitch with a grin.

“Guess we might get to see who’s faster, after all,” Gallandro says. He gestures towards her former sabacc opponent. “My boss wants to speak with you.”

Ahsoka takes a deep breath and nods, making sure to keep her hands away from the hidden pocket in her flight jacket. She walks over to join Meglann and the small being at the table. 

+=+=+=+=+=

Pain. A dull throbbing ache, centered on the back of his head brings Bryne Covenant to grudging consciousness. His eyes pull open, at least half-way. The brightening light of Corel flowing into the room from behind the drapes helps lift his eyelids to the top of his eye sockets. A sensation of softness, and rhythmic breathing combines to ease him into awareness. He looks down and to his left at the soft fan of reddish-blonde hair that plays over his chest. Delilah Sal murmurs in her sleep, a soft smile springing to her lips. He stares down at her, fighting to pull the memories of last night from the depths. He looks down at himself, realizes that he is clad in his open dress shirt and his shorts. Sal is covered by the sheet—in fact has pulled all of the covers on her. 

Bryne gingerly lifts himself to his elbows. Looking down, with more focus, he sees that he is not exactly clad in his shorts. They rest around his knees. He makes to lift his legs from the bed, when he feels a pull on his left leg. He notices that there is a tiny bit of bedclothes over his feet. He yanks it off. 

He grits his teeth at the sight of the peaceforcer-level binder affixed to his left ankle. The other is affixed to Sal’s right. Bryne closes his eyes, trying to focus on the pinprick of a blue-orange light in his head. A muffled _ahem_ comes from next to the bed. His eyes fly open.

Arrianya Bel Iblis-Tagge, wife of his cousin Garm, and chief of staff to the woman who lies handcuffed to him, or ankle-cuffed to be more precise, sits in full Imp-costume in a chair across from the bed. She calmly sips a suddenly-fragrant cup of caf, gazing at him with a look of mixed disgust and amusement. _Okay, to her credit, maybe more amusement than disgust, at least_ , crosses his mind. He notices that her dark eyes are focused on his middle, pushing him to reach down to his knees and pull his underwear up, mustering as much dignity as possible. As his head straightens up with the rise, it explodes with pain. He reaches back and feels the tiny lump at the back of his head.

He looks at the Countess. A wide grin flows to her features. “So. Garm is right, for once. You do have a hard head.”

Bryne rolls his eyes, realizes that Delilah has slipped off of his shoulder, but has snuggled close to his side. His eyes light on the soft smile on her lips; the almost peaceful look over her features. He touches her hair, gently, as he tries to recall the night before. 

Arrianya rises and moves next to him. She touches his cheek.

“What the hell happened?” he asks. 

“That’s for her to tell, stud,” she replies. She pulls something from the pocket of her precise Imperial uniform. She walks down to the foot of the bed, and touches the object to the cuff. It falls from his ankle. “She wanted to make sure you didn’t leave, if you woke up first.”

“What makes you think I couldn’t get out of them? I _am_ a trained CorSec officer,” he says.

“Yeah. Go with that, cuz,” she says, her lip quirking almost in line with her nose. “Just wait until the tabloids find out that the vaunted cocksman Bryne Covenant couldn’t get laid without going into the concussion protocol.”

She manages to dodge the high-heeled pump thrown at her; the first thing he could find. “Get in the shower. I’ll get her up. If you’re lucky, maybe she’ll kiss your booboo.” Both sides of her mouth climb, this time. “Of course, I think that might be how you got injured in the first place.”

+=+=+=+=+=

Ahsoka watches as the Espos place binders on Meglann’s wrists and start to move her away. Ahsoka forces herself to look into the younger woman’s eyes. There is only a flickering instant of fear in the brown eyes; of memory of captivity, before Meglann drops one eye in a wink. As they are leading Meglann away, Gallandro looks at the Tynnan. The small being nods, then turns away. Four more Espos walk up. She looks into the muzzles of their blasters as they track towards her. 

Without a word, she opens her jacket, allowing Gallandro to take the blaster concealed in the jacket. He reaches down to her boot and pulls a knife. He gazes at her for a moment. “Do I have your cooperation? I don’t like to threaten, but we do have your friend in custody. She’s healthy for the moment. There’s also a couple of squads at your ship.”

After her own long moment, Ahsoka nods. “If she’s harmed, Gallandro, there won’t be a power in the universe that will keep me from you,” she says quietly. “That goes for any of my crew, as well.”

“Just so we understand each other, little girl.” He holds his hands up. “As much as I’d love to settle the question of who’s faster, Manager Odumin and I just want to talk. Come with me.”

As they leave the cafe, they are joined by another dozen or so Espos. As they approach a small door, Gallandro places his palm on the plate. A second of whirring and thinking; the door snaps open. Another three meters down a well-appointed corridor, Gallandro, with Ahsoka in tow, boards a solitary elevator, leaving the guards out.

“You think you’re safe in here alone with me?” Ahsoka asks. 

The mustache twitches. “Maybe not. But I have your friends. Plus, getting out of here might call attention to some abilities that you would rather not have exposed in the light of day.” The grin widens, a bit of triumph in it. “These skills haven’t been exposed, as yet, by me, even though I was on the receiving end of them a while back on Alderaan.” He rubs his left arm, then lifts his hand to his shoulder. “Still hurts in the cold,” he says ruefully.

She looks down at the blaster riding high on his hip. “How’s the new toy?” she asks. “I see you’re trying a high-rise rig, now.”

“Not a new toy. Same one, just had it repaired after you broke it. Good as new.”

“See that you still haven’t tamed the rodent above your lip, though.”

He touches the end of the mammal in question. He looks her up and down. “The offer of a ride on my rodent still stands, dear,” he says.

“Doubt the Corporate Sector Authority would take kindly to me rocking your world in this elevator.”

Mercifully, she is saved from his rejoinder as the elevator stops. The doors snap open onto a single large room. The same small sabacc partner sits at the head of a large table, his back to a floor to ceiling window. Ahsoka takes a moment to look out at the spaceport. She absently lifts her hand to a small gold ring on her lekku.

As her eyes fall on the Tynnan, he smiles. “We are fifty stories up, my dear. Don’t think you would survive the jump.” She files this away for future use. Evidently Gallandro _has_ kept her abilities to himself, at least for now.

He gestures towards a seat next to him. She walks up as Gallandro pulls the chair out, and sits. The gunsel takes up a position by the door.

“My name is Odumin, my dear. I’m the Territorial Manager for the Central Administrative Territory of the Authority. I also have several other items in my portfolio. Namely, I serve as the Inspector-General for Information Security and Corruption.” His nearsighted eyes narrow at her.

“Let’s talk about that information that you tried to steal from me, a while back.”

+=+=+=+=+=

Covenant touches the back of his head gingerly, as the steaming water pounds the tension from his shoulders. He looks at his fingers, ruefully. _No blood, at least_. A check of other places reveals a few other light lacerations and at least a couple whose resemblance to a human bite mark are uncanny. 

He sighs. A search of every corner of his admittedly foggy brain can reveal no reason for the head injury. He steels himself and shakes his head. Through the pain, the fog recedes for the most part. _Okay. Maybe no brain-bleed_. On a whim, he opens his mind to the Force, straining a bit as the connection is made. _Hmm. Seems to have a busy signal, Runt_ , he thinks. 

A half-remembered lesson from Vokara Che; a manipulation of his remaining Force-sense and he confirms that he is in no danger of imminent death from an unseen head injury ticking away in his skull. 

“You hit your head pretty hard,” comes a warm voice at the door of the shower. He turns, seeing an indistinct shape on the pebbled glass. He slides the door open. Delilah Sal, Imperial Advisor for Internal Security, stands in the door, her hands clasped in front of her, her hair unbound and sleep-tousled. She smiles as she looks him up and down. One hand comes up in a questioning gesture. 

He nods and makes room for her. A good amount of brain power is spent keeping the blood in his primary brain as her soft skin slides up to his. She reaches up and kisses him gently. 

“Morning,” she says, lightly.

 _Evil Imperial mastermind, bud. Evil Imperial mastermind_ , he repeats to himself. He opens his mouth, accepting her tongue. 

When they break away, she smiles sheepishly as her hands move over his chest; the bite-marks and scratches. “Sorry. Got a bit carried away, as I remember.”

He raises his eyebrows, then gives up on concentrating on the blood flow as he realizes she has picked up the soap, lathering her hands up. She seems to be concentrating on one particular area of cleanliness. He grits his teeth, concentrating on her words. “You have trouble remembering?” he asks. 

“Yeah. I think we overdid it on the _zharela_.”

He closes his eyes as the sharp tastes of the Chagrian liquor, ranging from bitter to cloyingly sweet, flows into his memory. Images of the night begin to return, starting with an elevator door opening and two of Sal’s personal guards, their black masks impenetrable with no expression as the Imperial Advisor for Corellia rises from her knees in front of him. A memory of the first of the sharp pain at the back of his skull, from striking his head against the rich, paneled wood of the elevator wall in surprise. 

He closes his eyes as a memory of Kit Fisto’s bright voice lecturing a group of Padawans on the evils of certain substances for Jedi. _Liquor made from the secretions of the zharela worm can have particular effects on Force-users. While the drink is a well known base for cocktails on Chagria, it is also marketed as being particularly effective in enhancing sex, especially in humans. In non-Force-users, it can cause short-term memory loss; even some instances of insanity have been reported in addition to the sexual effects with one-time overuse. It can cause what can only be described as an ‘empathic overspill’ for Force-users, as well as a few hallucinatory effects during the act—some have said it can create the idea that an act actually happened. In some Force-users, it can cause these effects to bleed over in the partner._

Fisto had looked straight at Croft, who was trying to keep a straight face as Lan Alesha’s hand moved up his thigh. _We do allow some of our Shadows to use it, sparingly, for certain missions. It can lead to a certain eroding of reality with continued use, for us_. The Nautolan had given his broad smile. _It is especially not recommended to eat the worm._

A flash of memory, of colors; of a rubbery taste in his mouth, shared with Sal. “We ate the worm,” he says. 

She giggles. “Yep. Never done that before. Probably won’t ever do it again, either.” Her eyes grow hooded. “I would’ve rather remembered the night, if the flashes I’m getting are anything to judge by.”

“What the hell possessed us to drink that shit?” he snarls. _Especially you, dumbass_ , he thinks but doesn’t say. 

“I like combining new adventures,” she says, ignoring his anger. “My first night with a handsome prince; something else new to try. Arrianya suggested it. She and her husband have used it. May have to ask her if she experienced what we did.“ She smiles as he winces, as her hand moves over a particularly tender spot.

 _Yeah, I really don’t need to know that much about Garm’s sex life._

“You didn’t object at the time,” she says, her eyebrows rising. “The stuff’s legal, now that the Jedi are gone. What’s wrong? I don’t even know why they got it banned.”

“Nothing. I think I may be allergic or something.” 

Her dark eyes narrow, but she nods after a bit. “I’m sorry. I wanted to have a wonderful night. I didn’t think about anyone being allergic,” she says, looking down at their feet.

Bryne takes a deep breath, moves his hand to her chin, lifting her eyes. “It’s okay. I think that we did. I’m okay now,” he says. _Yeah. I really needed pay more attention to those damned lessons. And remember them_.

A mischievous smile flows to her lips. “Do you know what they say about _zharela_ , if you eat the worm?” 

He draws his breath in tightly at what might come next. “No,” he says, keeping his voice even.

“Arrianya says that the, uh, enhancing affects last for days. At the slightest touch.”

Bryne closes his eyes. _Great. This’ll make the Betrothal process go smoothly, I’m sure_.

He opens his eyes as he feels Delilah’s hands on his shoulders, pushing downward, gently. 

“We’ll get to that,” she says in her ‘Advisor’ voice. “Right now, I think I need to firm up those impressions I got of certain other skills.”

As he moves his mouth towards her, he can only hope that she bought the allergy explanation. A bright light appears in a mind, along with a giggle. As always, he can’t tell if Ahsoka’s voice serves as a weird sort of Force-conscience, or she is actually present in his mind. 

_Chagrian stay-hard? Really, Bait_?

+=+=+=+=+=

“Information?” Ahsoka says, sitting at the other end of the table from Odumin. “That’s a nice name for a large amount of concealed credits. I didn’t know that the Authority was a money-launderer for the Empire.”

Odumin’s teeth seem to grow larger with what passes for a smile. “That’s such a loaded term, my dear. I prefer ‘government-to-government transaction’.”

“Was it a transaction when your two Espo murderers were going to cut my throat and dump my body from an airlock?”

Odumin looks down, a contrite expression twitching his whiskers. “Yes. One that should never have been agreed to by the Authority, as a penalty for those credits’ protection. It was extralegal, against the Charter. But the Empire did have my predecessor over a dam, so to speak,” he finishes. 

“Ah yes. Mr. Tek. Did you inherit Mustache-Boy from him?” she asks, staring at the gunsel. He returns her scrutiny, without expression.

“Let’s just say that Gallandro actually saw the true nature of Tek and felt that there needed to be a reckoning for his crimes.”

“Worked out well for both of you,” Ahsoka says. “You got a nice new office with a window, a balcony, and a nice swimming pool,” she says, looking at the transparent wall to their left and its watery sanctum. “He probably got a raise and the ability to kill without too much oversight. What more could a sociopath want?”

“My dear, I wouldn’t bait Gallandro, if I were you. It could be unhealthy for you,” Odumin says.

“Might be unhealthy for all of us. I don’t generally go for revenge; kinda against my upbringing, but I might make an exception for the pain you and the Stanes caused my loved ones,” she says, rising, and moving over to the window. She stares at the balcony just outside the transparisteel. She turns and faces the pair again. Odumin has rotated his chair to observe her. 

“Yes. I know. I’ve already expressed my regret and remorse to Senator Chuchi. She has actually been very understanding, especially since I presented her with my plan for anti-corruption measures. She was able to negotiate a lesser financial penalty for the breach with the Empire’s money. Although,” he starts, “a large amount of the money seems to have disappeared, after the Stanes relieved us of it.” He looks down at Ahsoka’s left hand. “I see that you aren’t wearing your wedding ring, my dear Ms. Roshti.”

She keeps her expression calm at his knowledge of that particular alias and its accompanying marriage to a certain Pantoran Senator.

Odumin climbs down from his seat. He walks over beside her. “But enough of the past. I’m actually trying to make amends. You and your Senator helped me root out a pocket of corruption in the Espo Special Purposes Unit. I understand from Gallandro that you were instrumental in ending some of my predecessor’s little peccadillos with the Pykes, although he won’t give me any details about this assistance.” At that, he narrows his eyes at Gallandro. The gunman remains expressionless.

“So you’re looking for a frigate,” Odumin says. “I think I might be able to help you find one, as well as several others of her class that have come on my sensors. Ships that might’ve been pirated from a consignment involving the Corellians.” 

At that, Gallandro touches a button on the polished wood of the table. A holocom springs to life above the table. 

Ahsoka closes her eyes as a gravelly voice, a mixture of his homeworld, the Outer Rim, and a bit of an exclusive university education present in the voice, speaks. 

“Between you and one other, Ms. Roshti, you seem to keep me busy in pulling you out of the poodoo,” this particular Dragon says.

+=+=+=+=+=

Meglann Florlin once again stares at an open cell door, this time with force field projectors around the jamb. She grits her teeth as she remembers her time as an indentured servant—virtually a legal slave of a government and a private business. 

She snarls as an Espo shoves her through the door. She turns and starts towards the door. The narrow bars of energy, crisscrossing in a square pull her up short. The smirk on the cop’s face under his brown helmet stays in her mind as he turns away. 

She sits down on the hard bunk, placing her left hand on her knee. The other hand absently runs through her hair, as she goes over her options. There aren’t many. Most them involve things that Dani Faygan is better at; even though her own skills had worked on a few people. People who had seemed to want them to work.

Meglann curses as she thinks of how those people would probably be able to get out with one appendage tied behind their backs, a smartass quip and a Smirk or grin on their faces.

She might just be able to handle the snark and sarcasm.

Meglann sighs and gets up from the bed. She walks to the window—marveling at the fact that there is actually a window, albeit one covered with a metal shutters—a small amount of light peeking through. 

Meglann squeaks and jumps back as a small shadow covers parts of the light. She hears a giggle with a familiar voice inflection. She moves back to the window, realizing that the laughing face bears one dark blue eye and one amber, which fill the slit. Her own eyes widen as she realizes how far the window is from the ground. She strains to look down, then grins. 

Talle is balanced on the broad shoulders of her father, who in turn, precariously stands on a small ledge, two meters above the alley.

“Hey there,” Meglann says. “I see that your father’s good for something.”

Another giggle brings a slight shift. There is an instant of uncertainty in the mismatched eyes, as Talle’s small hands grasp the louvers of the shutters.

“Could you two back off on trying to out-smartass one another? It’s hard enough balancing my own weight, without this lump on my shoulders bouncing around giggling. A lump, I might add, that probably should lay off those damned cheeseburgers that Dani seems to be feeding her and the Hope,” Drop says. “Do the things, love,” he finishes, his tone growing warmer.

Talle holds on with one hand, then reaches up. Meglann sees that she is placing several objects on the metal, around the edges. When she is finished, Talle looks at her. “Need to stand back. Might give you a bit of a sunburn,” she says. 

Meglann backs away, just in time before a whining noise cuts through her hearing. She notices that the shadow no longer covers the light through the shutters. Two seconds of a flash of light around the edges and the metal falls away, leaving the window completely open.

Meglann takes a deep breath as Talle’s face appears in the window again, from the side. “Well, come on,” the little girl says, an impatient tone and expression accompanying the words. 

Meglann closes her eyes an instant after looking at the distance to the ground. She opens them. _This may not go the way that you think it might, my girl_ , she thinks, unsure if it is Talle or herself she is talking to.

She places her hands on the sill and lifts her body to the opening. She is just able to squeeze her body through the small opening, but hesitates. She nearly manages to stifle the shaking that has started through her thin frame.

“Come on, Ensign,” Drop says. “Only way out.” She feels Talle’s hand touch her cheek reassuringly. An instant before she slides easily down Drop’s body to the ledge. Another instant and she jumps to the ground, rolling, then rising with her arms outstretched in a flourish.

Meglann rolls her eyes at the bravado. _It had to be heights, didn’t it_? 

“You don’t want to be shown up by ten-year old, right, sweetie?” Drop says. He pats his shoulder. “Just come to me. I’ll get you down.”

Meglann starts to shake her head, but sees Ahsoka’s blue eyes watching her in her head, encouragement flowing from every feature. She allows her body to slip out of the window. Her shoes touch Drop’s shoulder. Before she can say or do anything else, he lets go of his precarious handhold, then grasps her ankles with one hand and an arm across her feet. The other hand slows the sliding descent to the ground. A half-second and Meglann stands on the ground, swaying only slightly from the rapidity of the descent. 

Drop pulls her to him tightly, allowing her to rest her face against his chest; allowing her just that moment that she needs to compose herself. She feels Talle grasp her around her hips and squeeze her just as tightly.

“Come on, ladies. Once again, we seem to have to save everybody else’s ass,” Drop says.


	6. Think of Corellia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Empire has no sense of humor. The Dragonfire, rather than snark. A chance for prospective brides to check the Covenant’s teeth and other parts. Fulcrum and her Hammer come close to destabilizing a Territorial Administrator. The Art of the Deal.

_That’s a lot of shit-brown armor out there._

Boge M’Faru stares out of the cockpit port at two dozen or so cops milling around the docking bay. So far, none of them had made a move to board the ship. _Don’t really have to. The two heavy blasters on either side might serve to discourage us from leaving_

Murta Locke looks up at him from the pilot’s console. “I don’t think we can bust out of those gravity-locks, bud,” he says. M’Faru rolls his eyes. Four years as partners on the streets of Aldera, and he can just make out what the pilot was saying, in his incomprehensible accent. He looks at the monitor, showing the heavy locks on the forward landing gear. 

“I thought this bucket was powerful,” he says. 

“It is, but we might burn out the repulsors. Do you really want to face Ishta, if we break her baby?” Even in the security of their own ship, both of them have dropped into using code-words and nicknames. Boge can see the purple eyes of Dani Faygan morphing to the black with raw emotion. Emotions that are not the ones that he would usually want to feel from the Zeltron. A transition usually accompanied by the bright flush to her crimson skin, which signifies anger in her people. In spite of their situation, he remembers the meaning of her codename. Ishta—the Chieftain of the Second Corellian Hell. The Realm of the Warrior Seductress—of spies. He feels a warm grin flow to his features, a grin that is matched by a version on Murta’s face. At least Boge thinks the expression is possibly matched, under the mass of hair on Locke’s cheeks and chin.

Boge turns to the two astromechs, playing a version of a Mandalorian hologame. “Hey, trashcans. Time to earn your keep. Get a signal to Dani or that old bastard of a father of hers.”

Boge narrows his eyes at a burst of binary from Arseven to Arten Deuce. He grins at the only three words he can decipher. _The Red Dragonspawn._

_It’s probably best I can’t translate the other words_ , he thinks.

He happens to glance out at the spaceport. His eyes lock on Murta’s in amazement. Sometime in the brief stretch of their conversation the two squads of Espos had shrunk to two pairs, each serving the large blasters on either side. “So, what just happened?” he asks. 

Murta’s response is to shrug. Boge’s comm chimes with a text. 

He grins at the Aurabesh in the air above it.

_Which one of you cheap assholes decided to send me in coach to this hole?_

He sees Murta snort and point. A skinny figure, her head poking out from a doorsill of the entry port, indistinct yellow, green, and now-purple tattoos showing against her azure skin, waves a finger at them. 

Boge ignores the fact of which finger Ano Lessi, Pantoran slicer extraordinaire and legend in her own mind, uses.

“Come on,” he says to Murta. “Let’s get to the ramp and see which of our charms can be used on the other four dipshits.”

They both choose to ignore the skeptical electronic snorts from either Arseven or Deuce. 

+=+=+=+=+=

Ahsoka stares at the projection of Bel Iblis. “Great,” she says. “So glad that I’m kept in the loop, Dragon. Particularly since I seem to be working for Corellia, instead of other parties, these days.”

“Get over yourself, dear,” he says. “We all play our part in this farce.”

She is not sure which farce he refers to. The marriage farce or the ship-stealing farce?

He turns his attention to Odumin. “We’ve checked the registration numbers that you sent us. The ships do belong to the Corellian Engineering Corporation, Manager. We would appreciate the courtesy of returning them, under the Intergalactic Piracy Recovery Act.”

Ahsoka sees Odumin approximate a smile on his furry features. His whiskers twitch with what she can only surmise is amusement.

“We will, of course, honor our responsibilities under the IPRA. But, out of _professional courtesy_ , what would Corellia be doing with four heavy escort-frigates? The other six, the freighters and the CR-90s, I can understand, but _Nebulon-B_ s? Those very nearly come into the proscribed weapons realm.”

Draq’ smiles smoothly. “I can’t go into a great deal, but let’s just say that it actually comes into the realm of proprietary technology that’s on the ships. From a confidential deal with the Mining Guild and your friends the Corporate Alliance. I’ve sent the registry number of the deal to you. Please allow Ms. Roshti to take possession of the ships. I, of course, have sent a note of gratitude to Senator Chuchi for your _cooperation_. I’m quite sure that she will share our gratitude with the rest of the CorpSec oversight board, as she is the Chair, this year.”

Ahsoka had heard Bryne, Dani, even Nola speak of the Dragon in full flight and fire. She had never witnessed it firsthand, until today. _At least the mind games and the diplomatic fire, rather than the invade-a-sovereign-world fire_.

After a moment, Odumin nods. “We would be glad to, my dear Procurator,” he says.

Draq’ gives a tight smile. “Oh, you haven’t heard. I’ve retired from government service. I’m only a businessman, now.”

“I had heard. Hard to imagine Corellia with no Dragon at its helm,” Odumin says with a straight face.

“As a sign of good faith, I’m sure that the Authority could use some mint-condition CR-90s and freighters. We’re concerned mostly with the Nebbies,” Draq’ says smoothly.

Odumin dips his head. “Some of our shipping, _ah, partners_ , I’m sure, could use them.”

Ahsoka mostly succeeds in fighting her eyeroll at the double and triple meanings apparently present in every word.

Odumin rises. “I would, since you’re no longer a government employee, love to pick your brain on something. Corellia has the lowest instance of institutional corruption among the Core Worlds, with the amount of commerce that you deal in. Could we discuss techniques that I can employ here in the Corporate Sector as I try to root out corruption?” He looks at Ahsoka. “I would also appreciate the use of your employee, here. She has proven herself quite resourceful in the past.”

Draq’ looks at Ahsoka. “She’s not an employee. She’s only an independent contractor.” His eyes narrow in the holofield. “One that I’m not even sure is worth keeping on retainer, for the trouble she causes. I am, however, concerned about my daughter’s ship and crew. I understand that you’re holding a young woman in your correctional facilities. She’s a valuable employee, one who is no trouble and shows great promise.”

Ahsoka can feel the enamel wearing off of her teeth.

Odumin smiles again. “I’m sure that’s not quite true about Ms. Roshti.” He motions to Gallandro, who touches his ear. “However, there may be an added bonus to this call. Some partners on Fondor have contacted us; they are interested in the Betrothal process for your Royal; your Covenant—is that the right term? I’m authorized to inform you.”

Ahsoka starts to rise at Draq’s expression of satisfaction. His blue eyes catch hers, one of them quickly covered by an eyelid, then uncovered. She sits. “Excellent. My employee, the young woman in your jail, is hereby authorized to act as my agent. This will go very well, especially in light of another employee’s information about Queen Kylantha of Naboo’s interest.”

Ahsoka manages to keep her expression neutral as her heart sinks.

“Begging your pardon, Manager Odumin,” Gallandro says. “We may have a problem. The detention facility has, uh, misplaced Mr. Bel Iblis’s employee.” His eyes narrow. “Along with the window to her cell.”

Ahsoka and Draq’ manage to share a look of pride between them, as Odumin sputters.

As she starts to laugh, Ahsoka feels a violent shuddering of the building; a shadow passes over her vision.

+=+=+=+=+=

Delilah looks up from her datapad as Bryne walks into the dining room. Their eyes wander up and down in a mutual examination. Delilah smiles at the laundered gray suit, a fresh white undertunic now under the gray coat. “See you found the shirt that my droid got for you. Looks good on you.”

“Yeah. Had to. Somebody apparently ripped the other one.”

“I never could go slow when unwrapping Life Day gifts. A character flaw,” she replies easily. She stands up from the full breakfast spread. His eyes narrow at the Imperial-white tunic, its rank plaque placed precisely. The look fades as they kiss, Delilah’s hands moving up to his cheeks. 

As they break away, Sal sees Bryne glance over at the other person in the room, as if noticing him for the first time. The Advisor grits her teeth; she knows that Covenant had seen the Viceroy when he had first walked in the room. Covenant walks over and pulls her chair out, motioning for her to sit. He walks over and pulls his own chair out, seating himself.

Dupas Thomree’s eyes narrow over the gray-green tunic. The server droid pours Covenant’s caf, as he finally looks at Thomree and acknowledges his existence. 

Sal sips her own coffee, wishing for something stronger, if not the Chagrian liquor of the night before. Covenant stares at the Viceroy.

“You do know it is protocol for anyone to remain standing until an Imperial moff says you can sit?” Thomree asks pleasantly, his usually ever-present smile finally returning after a brief hiatus. 

Covenant gives his own tight smile. “Really? I thought that courtesy was extended to the Diktat, the elected head of government for Corellia.” His eyes grow sharper, Sal can feel a vague hint of menace emanating from him. “Extended by the Elector and their Covenant,” he finishes. “A courtesy that’s held for them by right.”

Sal holds her breath. After a moment, Thomree starts to rise. Before he can clear his seat, Covenant motions him to remain seated, a smirk on his face. She rolls her eyes. “With all due respect to you both, would you prefer to piss against the wall over there, to mark your territory?”

Bryne’s eyes widen, as she catches the rueful cast in them. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Thomree grin and nod. 

“Perhaps there is no need to. I hear you’re a fair hand at unarmed combat, your Eminence,” the former Diktat says. “I’m pretty well known at bare-knuckles. Perhaps a match this afternoon?” He examines his fingernails, awaiting a reply. 

“He would love to,” Sal says quickly, as Covenant opens his mouth. “But he has other engagements.” Delilah sees his eyebrow raise, a movement that had captivated her when she had first met him. She ignores how the look cuts through her. “I’m working a half-day today. Thought we would go to the Green, or something,” she finishes, naming the large park of the capital city.

After a moment, he nods. “Perhaps another day, Governor?”

Thomree says nothing, but dips his head. The three of them begin to eat in silence. 

As they push their plates away, Thomree lifts his newly filled caf cup to his lips, then sets it down. He picks up Sal’s datapad, and examines the news sheet on the screen. A small smile quirks his lips at the holocapture of Delilah and Bryne leaving the restaurant, hand-in-hand. Other shots of them enjoying dinner are present, along with the subtle headline. _Is this the one?_

“As much as I’m gratified to see two kids in love on Page Six,” he says. “I think this little farce has gone on long enough.” Sal can feel the look of shock on her face. “Although,” he continues, “it does the rabble good to see an entertaining royal pursuit.” His smile fades. “We both know that each of you have your own ends to meet in this. Delilah probably thinks that marrying the Covenant can cement her own power more solidly; bringing her one step closer to pushing me out of office.”

Delilah looks away, unable to meet Bryne’s eyes. 

“You, your Eminence. You’re jumping at this, so you can end the Betrothal search quickly, with someone that’s at least fairly known and easy on the eyes.” Sal notices that he, unlike she, stares directly into the Viceroy’s eyes.

“Maybe you should let us worry about that, Dupe, old boy,” Covenant says, his crooked grin breaking out over his features. “I can call you, Dupe, right?”

The anger flares over Thomree’s bland, handsome features. “I think that you’ll end this. For one thing, she is a serving Imperial officer. She has to get permission from her superior to marry. Another thing, you might want to know your own _Concordat_. It specifically says that the Covenant cannot marry a member of the Privy Council or their family. I think she qualifies, as the Imperial Advisor.”

Bryne smiles tightly. “Not really. We read it as constitutional members of the PC. Didn’t see the title of Imperial Advisor in the text anywhere.”

Thomree brings his fist on the table. “I say she is. I also don’t give her permission to marry.”

Sal closes her eyes, then places her hand on Covenant’s arm. She feels the muscles tense with anger. “It’s okay, Bryne. This probably would never work.” She stands. To their credit, both men rise, as well. She reaches over and kisses Covenant. She grins mischievously “Maybe your new wife will still let you out of the house a bit.”

Something crosses his warm green eyes. An instant and it is gone. He looks over at Thomree. “I guess that means that we have a date today, Viceroy. I look forward to it.” He turns and is gone.

Sal stares after him. “This is for the best, Delilah. I know that you want revenge against the Blackthorns and Bel Iblis, for your mother,” he says quietly, a tender expression on his face, rather than the calculating smile. “I think we can accomplish your aims another way. We have to remain united.” He stands, pulls her into an embrace. “Maybe I’ll get a bit for you today, when I pound his face into pulp.”

She says nothing as she folds into the Moff’s arms. She smiles secretly against his chest.

 _Might be easier said than done_ , she thinks. Delilah remembers what she had been reading earlier. The affects of _zharela_ on various populations. Especially one that is now extinct, as well as proscribed.

She smiles at the tiny nugget of knowledge, of what it might mean for her.

+=+=+=+=+=

“Anybody got any bright ideas on how the hell to get the rest of these assholes out of here?” Drop asks, interrupting Meglann’s reverie.

“Well, you could always do a striptease,” Meglann says acerbically.

“We want them to leave, dear, not stick around in awe,” he replies, without even a breath.

They can both almost feel the eyerolls from the other two young women. Meglann’s comm sings. 

_When you two are through gazing at each other longingly, could you concentrate on executing my plan?_ the Aurabesh reads.

“Oh, and what plan is that, Miss Congeniality?” Meglann asks. 

“Watch and learn, infant,” Ano actually says. Meglann watches as her yellow and green marked azure features wrinkle in concentration on the twin data monacles covering her eyes. 

Drop ducks back suddenly as the Espos on their side of the _Bucket_ look back at the entry port. The cops’ stares become more pointed; they start to move towards them. “Uh, Ano, what would our part of this grand plan be? Could you step it up? Phygus isn’t even here to distract you.” Meglann sees him glance down at his comm.

She sees his eyes widen and a bronze flush flow over his features. She hides the grin at his expression. Talle is under no constraints as she starts to giggle at his consternation.

“Come on,” he says. “Need to hide for a bit. Things might get loud.”

Meglann’s hands go over her ears as a loud up-and-down wailing begins to cut through their ears, punctuated by horns, bells, and a deeper, louder gonging sound. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees the Espos looking at one another, their hands to the earpieces on their helmets. 

All four troopers drop to their knees as a high-pitched screeching sound emits. Meglann realizes that Drop is charging them. Without thinking, she follows him. 

She gets to the heavy blaster just as Drop releases the two Espos, after their helmeted heads have crashed together, courtesy of his plate-like hands. Apparently one of them has a harder head than the other, as he starts to rise. Meglann pulls the blaster that Talle had brought for her, moving the selector switch as she takes aim. She pulls the trigger, just as she realizes a skipped step.

A blue concentric ring from the ship touches the trooper on his bare face. He collapses. Murta Locke smiles at her warmly. 

Drop is under no restrictions. “Hey, Hard-Charger. We’re in a war. The blaster’s protected in a holster. You don’t need to keep the safety on. Has to be ready to rock at all times,” he says, his surprisingly gentle tone taking the sting out of his words. He touches her cheek, then bends down. “Come on. We need to find the key to those grav locks.” She glances over at the other two troopers, on the port side of the ship. Boge is searching them. Murta has disappeared; the whine of the ignition sequence replacing the quiet. She realizes that the alarm no longer sounds—it had stopped as soon as the four Espos hit the floor. 

She joins Drop in his search. They stare at one another as the searches bring up nothing resembling a keychip. She looks over at Boge, who shakes his head. Both turn towards the gravity locks.

A sharp Pantoran accent, rare in its actual use, sounds as Ano’s skinny figure walks past them. “Do I have to do everything?” she asks, not bothering to be gentle. She stops up short as two cylindrical metal figures trundle down the ramp, one a trifle slower than the other. Both move towards the dataports on each side of the locks.

Several moments of whirring noises; a sarcastic conversation in binary, and the locks snap back slightly. The two droids disconnect, and without attempting to move the locks away from the landing gear, turn and roll back up the ramp. 

In spite of the need for alacrity, Meglann, Talle, and even Ano start to laugh at the aggrieved expressions of the two largest of their party, as they make to move the heavy locks away from the ship. 

Meglann turns to Ano and holds out her hand. “I’m Meglann,” she starts. Her comm chimes as Ano turns towards the ramp, ignoring her hand.

She grits her teeth and raises her comm. _I know who you are. Guess my sleep will be interrupted by the Fulcrum-twit’s moaning and carrying on_.

Talle laughs at her thunderous expression, marked by an intense rise in skin temperature. “You get used to it,” is all the girl says. 

+=+=+=+=+=

Ahsoka remains seated as she watches the shadow move into Odumin’s vision. The Tynnan jumps up, his eyes widening as the old _Consular_ slowly angles into the building, coming to rest within a half meter of the balcony outside the conference room. She calms her breathing as a Smirk lightens her features. She had managed to stop the eyeroll from sending her eyes back into her skull.

Gallandro’s blaster appears in his fist. The muzzle moves between her head and the ship’s bow. As Odumin stands, his vision transfixed with the ship’s turret guns swinging around to track him, as it rotates to bring the airlock in line with the window, Ahsoka doesn’t bother using the Force, except for one tiny aspect. She reaches up and snatches the blaster from the gunsel’s hands, with preternatural speed. The weapon is stripped of its energy pack and back in his holster before he notices it is missing. 

He is also left wondering why Ahsoka’s own blaster is back in her jacket and his trousers are unzipped, all in the space of a second and a half. Ahsoka sits examining her nails, innocently. Her eyes lock on his, narrowing at her. 

“One of these days, little girl, you’re not going to be able to touch your friend and we’ll decide whose fastest,” he whispers low enough that Odumin can’t hear. “I’m going to hate to have to kill you.”

Ahsoka stands up. “How about if I just kill you now, Gallandro? Seems like I’ve already settled whose faster. Only way you’ll be able to stop me is to be a step ahead of me. I’ll always be a step ahead. Even when you try to shoot me in the back from a long way off.” She turns to Odumin, who is staring at her.

“I assume that your young friend is onboard that ship,” he says, his whiskers twitching with something like amusement.

“Probably,” she says. “Probably learning to help fly it.” She sees the ship jerk. “Or actually flying it,” she adds dryly.

Odumin gestures for Gallandro to put his comm back on his belt. “Alright, my dear. We’ll write this whole little exercise off. You’re free to go. We’ll be in contact with your young employee, to set up the Betrothal arrangements.” His eyes harden as he glances at the ship. “She’ll have to do it long distance, though. The warrant for escape and destruction of public property will still stand, at least in the Corporate Sector.”

Ahsoka starts to speak, then nods. “See that you keep it local. If not, I might return and be less forgiving.”

“I might be less forgiving, as well, Manager,” Draq’s voice emits from the holocomm. They turn at his forgotten image. The Dragon look is in full flame. “You might rethink your position on my employee. She means a great deal to two worlds’ Elder Families. Ones who control trade agreements.”

Odumin nods after a moment. “If you keep her off of Etti IV, I’ll be satisfied.”

Ahsoka smiles. “Maybe. You never can tell.”

Odumin reaches up and takes her hand. He brings his mouth to it, planting a brief kiss on it. “Farewell, Ms. Roshti. Would that I had you and your crew working for me. What corruption I could clean up in the Authority.”

Ahsoka’s smile morphs into a Smirk. “I think that the only way you could do that is if you disband it, Manager,” she says. She turns and opens the door to the balcony. One quick jump and she is in the entryport of the ship. 

Gallandro looks down at his boss. “Should we alert the Empire, Manager? They might be interested in some things that I know about her.”

Odumin watches as the ship rotates away. “No,” he says, turning and looking up at his gunman. “Forget those things. She might be useful to us one day. She helped us get out from under the Empire’s thumb with the funding for Stardust, at least.” His eyes harden. “See that you do, Gallandro. Wipe the security cameras, from here to the time she took off her mask. The same way that I did on the liner.”

He turns and looks back at the departing ship. _A resourceful young woman, indeed._

+=+=+=+=+=

Ahsoka watches as Drop closes the door. He grins at her. “How was the hospitality?”

“Oh, you know. Lot of small talk. Had to put a gunman in his place. Got four ships, though. As well as a date for Covenant.”

He smirks, until he sees her face fall. “It’s okay, sweetie,” he says, pulling her to him in a one-armed hug. “You know what you mean to him, right?”

She smiles crookedly. “Yeah. Kinda got a clue, big guy.” She reaches up and kisses him on the cheek.

She turns and moves towards the main cabin, which she had appropriated, with the owner’s permission. As she enters the dim room, Meglann steps in behind her before the door closes. She turns and pulls the younger woman into her arms. 

“You okay, Meglann?” Ahsoka asks. 

Meglann takes a deep, ragged breath. She holds her hands out. They are steady. “They’ve finally stopped shaking.”

“It’s okay to be scared, ‘glann,” Ahsoka says quietly. “Means you’re alive. You just have to not give into the fear, let it consume you.”

“What about you, Ahsoka? Are you still scared?”

Ahsoka smiles gently. “Not in the same way. I have to maintain balance; for other reasons.”

Meglann nods, tucking her face into Ahsoka’s shoulder for a moment. She pulls her face back up, looks the warrior in the eye. “How do you do it?”

“Don’t know if I can explain. I just concentrate on doing what I have to.” She looks down. Her voice drops. “I concentrate on staying in the light.” She looks up again at Meglann. “I have some people who help me do that, but I know that they won’t always be there, every time,” she finishes. 

She shakes her head. “One thing you might find is that you’re going to need to expend some energy. If you don’t, you may feel like you’re going to explode.”

Meglann grins at her; gives her a quick kiss. “You have any suggestions, there, Jedi-woman?”

Ahsoka pulls her back towards the door. “Just might, Hammer. I just might. At least to start with.” She palms open the door, to Meglann’s surprise. “Don’t worry. We’ll get to that. Good way to calm down after sparring.”

The door closes behind them.


	7. A Diamond In the Poodoo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Consummation Twins meet, though one is losing some enthusiasm. Fear and Sparring on the _Bucket_. A Covenant gets to hold that previously unknown diamond

_An idiot_. 

_A pure, unadulterated, Class-One idiot_ , Kath Morn thinks, as she listens to one side of her partner’s animated conversation with a business associate. She closes her eyes as she listens to the prattle; clearing her mind of all but the honking cadence of his voice, as white noise. Her mind’s eye focuses on the look on the Covenant’s face when Article 177 was proposed. 

She wonders, not for the first time, if what they are proposing for him is the best for a modern Corellia. Especially one that is beginning to feel the thumb of Dupas Thomree and the Empire more and more. She opens her eyes, looking up at the line of lights in the night sky—the orbital dockyards, where so much of the industry had been relocated in the last two hundred years—this after many more hundreds of years of toll on the Eldest Brother’s environment. Her great-grandmother had been one of the catalysts for the Reclamation. An industrialist as powerful as any, she had seen the future. A future in which Corellia’s atmosphere had been on a course that would see her air burn and her seas rise. Her eyes track downward to the near horizon. A new factory being built on the surface, rather than in the stars. She wonders if in five years whether her ancestor’s prescience and drive will be undone by Dupas Thomree and his Emperor.

Kath shakes her head. She had celebrated the fact that Corellia had found its protector again after so many years, after Jamestyn Blackthorn had given up the Chain, and the chance at the vacant Signet of the Elector, with the death of his mother. Her enthusiasm had dimmed when the Covenant had shown no interest in Declaring for the Signet, instead concentrating on the gratification of his body, _well, more specifically, his cock_ , rather than his duties. Traveling out among the stars rather than staying on Corellia and figuring out how to counteract the bourgeoning depredations of the Empire.

Kath sighs as a new instance of Slan’s braying laughter cuts through her thoughts. As a new member of the Electoral Council, she has been briefed on the true nature of the new Covenant’s relationship to the Blackthorns and the Raylans—the conjoined Elder Families of the Elector and the Covenant. She grits her teeth as she thinks of how the male products of those two ancient, dedicated lines have not lived up to their promise in the last two generations. Forsaking their duty, either for love, or for gratification. 

Her eyes tear as she thinks of her beloved older cousin. She is glad that Ina Raylan is not alive to see what her progeny have come to. Kath remembers holding her infant godson in her arms, as he gains his ancient name, so many years ago, when she was a young teenager herself.

Kath steels herself and rises. _It’s time for Jame Blackthorn to do the job he was born for, even if it is to father a new hope for Corellia. A hope not under the influence of Zeltrons and Mandalorians; or upstart orphans who happened to marry well._

She focuses on Fells. He smiles. “Well, the Imperial is out of the picture. The Moff has put the end to that little experiment,” he says.

Kath matches his smile, but for reasons different than his. “I thought it was a bad idea, anyway, putting another example of the Hag’s genetic material in the mix,” she replies, the nickname of Mailyn Blackthorn, the conniving ex-wife of the last Covenant and Elector-Presumptive. The rumored mother of the Imperial Advisor for Internal Affairs.

Slan nods. “Whatever. Rumor has it that the Zeltrons have offered to host a Betrothal Parade, with at least a couple of others showing interest. Not sure how I feel about more of their influence, but they have actually taken themselves out of the running.”

“So what others are showing interest?” she asks.

“Kylantha of Naboo and a human Yard-Family on Fondor.”

Kath smiles. “Excellent. A chance to establish a dynasty on two worlds; as well as one with an ancient Elder Family. Which Family on Fondor?”

“The Dao-Aspeff consortium.” He rubs his hands together. “Our percentages just went up,” he finishes. 

Kath Morn ignores his glee, as she thinks of the future of her world and her people.

+=+=+=+=+= 

Meglann circles her opponent warily. 

“Come on, Groupie. Get your hands up,” comes from the gaggle standing near the bulkhead.

One of the only idle parts of her brain tries to identify the speaker. _Well, I can clearly understand the words, so that counts the droids and Murta out. No Mando accent, plus Boge is the only one who calls me that._

She glances over at Drop. His face is expressionless, until it winces. 

Just as an orange fist intersects with her jaw. _Pulled_ , she knows.

“Time,” Drop says. 

Meglann stands in the center, not bothering to go to a corner. Drop walks over as Ahsoka turns to give them privacy. Meglann sighs as Drop hands her a water bottle and a towel. After she drains it and wipes her face, Drop quietly reaches up and runs his thumbs near the cut on her cheek and her bloody lip.

“So how’re the bets going?” Meglann asks. 

“You don’t worry about that. Worry about not getting hit so fast.”

“Why am I sparring with a Jedi again?” Meglann asks. “The chances of me coming up in hand-to-hand against a Force-user are pretty damned slim. Odds are that if I come up against one, I’m already sliced in half before I get this close. Or my blaster bolts have been deflected back in to my head.” She blanches at her last words. 

Drop’s face remains expressionless, but his large hand rests on her cheek for a moment. “You don’t get to choose your opponents, Meglann,” he says gently. “Ahsoka wants you to not be afraid to face anyone; as well as know when to get your licks in and get the hell out. Besides,” he continues with a wry grin, “she’s not using the Force. You may come up against someone like a Togruta. Her species is naturally athletic and fast. Lot of people underestimate her. She comes from a world with a tiny bit of a higher gravity. She doesn’t look as skinny as she did when she was a Padawan, but you shouldn’t judge a datapad by its screen.” The grin widens. “It’s why I increased the gravity in this hold. Gives you a little bit of help.”

Meglann feels her eyes widen at that. She turns to Ahsoka, gazing at the Smirk. “Come on, dear. You gonna keep dancing with the Beast? I’m hungry. Let me pound you some more, then you can fix me lunch.”

“How about a shit sandwich, _dear?_ ” she says, holding her right hand up and making a come-hither motion with her first two fingers.

Ahsoka nods, the Smirk transitioning to a grin. “You and what army, little girl?”

Meglann allows Ahsoka to get into her stance, with only a microsecond to spare, before she is attacking. Her mind concentrates on the forms, of dodging and blocking Ahsoka’s hooks and jabs. She ignores the commentary from the bulkhead as she focuses on Ahsoka’s calm face.

She feels a slight bit of cooler skin on her face as Ahsoka’s fist glances on her already-cut cheek. Her left hand brushes on the slightly different texture of a lek. Her fist closes on the appendage and yanks. Her heart twists as she hears the gasp of pain from Ahsoka; she steels herself then brings her knee up to the muscled stomach. Two jabs and Ahsoka takes a step back, blood pouring from her nose and her lips. 

“Done,” Drop says. The gaggle moves over to the pair. Ahsoka shakes her head several times then moves to Meglann. Meglann looks at her expectantly, her eyes wide with concern. “Not bad, love,” Ahsoka says. “You do realize that I would’ve continued to fight, right?”

“Yeah,” Meglann says. 

“What would you have done next?” Drop asks. 

“Turn around and run like hell. Come back and carpet bomb the shit out of the area. From orbit.”

Ahsoka looks away, unable to meet Meglann’s eyes. She turns back. Meglann sees something like regret in the blue windows—something she has seen every time she and Ahsoka have sparred or trained together; every time Ahsoka has even watched her train at all. “Half-right. You can just walk away. You don’t have to come back. There’ll always be somebody to fight. I think that you’re learning that as a rebel—not part of the Empire with billions of soldiers—you only have to survive, to win.”

She pulls Meglann into an embrace. Meglann feels Ahsoka’s lips against her ear as she squeezes tightly. They break away, just in time to see the two droids handing credits from their internal mechanism to the other two members of the audience.

“Really, you little shits?” Meglann says. “You bet against me?”

“Somebody had to, Hammer,” Drop says. She notices that he doesn’t collect or distribute. He grins. 

She matches his expression. “Guess it helped turning up the gravity.”

Ahsoka and Drop look at one another. She laughs out loud. “Think you’ve been snookered, girl. He didn’t turn the gravity up, at least not this time. He just used a Drop mind-trick on you.”

Meglann turns and narrows her eyes at the large trooper, whose smirk could possibly qualify him to join a Togruta huntfast. “Yeah. Free your mind, the ass will follow,” he says. 

Meglann gives a smirk of her own and punches him in the chest. “Did you turn the gravity up on that one, hardhead?” she asks.

Her face falls as Ahsoka tosses her two side-handle batons. Meglann manages to deftly catch them by the handles, twirling them to rest under her forearms. “Come on, Ina,” Ahsoka says. “Got another half-hour of wearing you out, before I might let you get a shower and then maybe we can wear each other out in another way,” she finishes with a suggestive Smirk.

A collective groan comes from at least two of the audience. “Too much information! Too much information!” Boge exclaims. 

Ahsoka turns and stands next to Meglann as the others retreat. She draws her sabers and ignites them. Meglann brings her fists up to a ready position with the batons.

“Mirror,” Ahsoka says quietly. She begins to dance in the long-familiar forms.

Meglann joins in the dance next to her, reflecting the strikes and parries with the adopted forms of the batons. As she does, her mind’s eye gets a glimpse of a much-smaller version of Ahsoka, doing these exact same lightsaber exercises, a pair of warm green eyes watching her progress from his vantage point next to her. Exercises performed when their world was not a fight for survival and concealment. Before they had only been student-teacher and student to each other. Before she had begun her formal training with a Master, as Ahsoka had told Meglann on a quiet night, after she had finally revealed her background—even her last name to to her.

Meglann glances at Ahsoka’s face. Through the pure joy of the exercise, Meglann sees something else in her eyes.

Something that makes Meglann want to hold both of those long-ago sparring partners to her tightly. 

A beeping noise from the wall comm interrupts the dance.

+=+=+=+=+=

Nola Vorserrie watches the airlock, waiting for it to open. The solemn Handmaidens stand next to her. She grins at their discomfort, as they fight the waves of warmth and desire emanating from the two people standing next to them.

Even with the resonances only burbling, the Handmaidens can be seen fidgeting as they make sidelong glances at the _Zoetarch_ of Zeltros and his primary heart-bond. Boman Torstan’ii and Kanylynaan na’Torstan’ii return her grin, both aware of their effect on those who have not spent much time around Zeltrons. 

_Thanks, Dani_ , Nola thinks to herself. Four years of growing up in the same household, even before she was old enough to think about such things, had been enough to help her own control. Her grin widens. _Not to mention the years since, when we were both adults._ She straightens and brings herself back to the present as she hears the distant clangs of the two ships mating together. 

She takes a deep breath. Boman smiles at her. “It will be fine, Nola, dear,” he says. “I’ve only been around him briefly, but I think that Bryne will figure this whole thing out.” He touches her cheek. “Not to mention that one that we’re not supposed to mention.”

The door cycles open. She feels her face nearly crack with a wide smile as Dani steps through the door first. Two steps and she is in her much shorter foster-sister’s arms, twirling her around.

As Nola puts her sister down, ignoring the grins of the Handmaidens and the Prime-Couple of Zeltros, she remembers protocol and dips her head to the person who has followed Dani through the airlock. Covenant rolls his eyes as he reaches over and brings his forehead to hers. 

As they break away, he and the Zeltrons move to each other and bow, formally. Nola ignores the formalities as she whispers into Dani’s ear. “How is he?”

“Fine,” Dani says tersely. Nola feels the anger cut through her, projected and reflected through the resonance. Dani looks away. 

Nola realizes that the greetings have moved through the formal stage, as she sees the Handmaiden’s eyes pop. She shakes her head, freeing her heart of the pain of her foster-sister, as well as that of Bryne. She allows herself a grin. _No, the greetings are still in the formal stage, for Zeltrons_. 

Boman finally breaks the kiss with Covenant, allowing his bond to pull the Corellian into her arms and move her lips to his. Kanyly finally comes up for air, her hand falling from his ass. 

“You know, Bryne,” Boman starts in his deep voice, “this whole thing could be solved, if you had taken the offer from any of our grandchildren during your two weeks on the beach. They’re all of age and very interested.”

Bryne grins. “Yeah, I know. I ain’t exactly a catch, these days, your Excellency,” he says. Nola sees Dani’s eyes tear as Bryne meets her gaze.

“As you Corellians say, ‘bullshit’,” Kanyly says. “If we didn’t have this whole bonding thing going on right now with Sina, we might be putting our own names in; for you to join our bond.” She looks down. “We know why that’s not possible.”

Bryne nods, his own eyes growing sad. “I know. I appreciate you doing this whole Betrothal Parade thing. Hopefully we can get this farce over with.”

Nola takes him by the elbow. “Speaking of which, the Queen awaits.”

Bryne smiles at the couple. For a moment, Nola sees his eyes move to their interlinked hands. Boman catches his look, as well. He and Kanyly move closer to Bryne and Nola, their eyes pulling Dani in, as well.

“We’ll find a way to keep you close to Fulcrum,” Kanyly says, quietly, where only the five of them can hear.

“Yes, we will,” Boman says. “Our world owes her a great deal. You can look at the Land as a sanctuary for you both.”

After a moment Bryne nods. 

“When you finish with the Queen,” Boman says, his eyes growing playful, “that is, if you’re not too exhausted,” his grin widening at Bryne’s eyeroll, “we need your help with another matter. A matter of family.”

Nola’s heart falls as she sees Bryne nod. The looks on Dani and Bryne’s faces show no sign of the pain dissipating. 

+=+=+=+=+=

Ahsoka watches as the stars shorten in the viewport. Her eyes move up to the screen above the pilot’s stations. A schematic of a standard sized planet begins to spout Aurabesh data on the world. A world ringed by orbital dockyards and repair bays, both horizontally and vertically. Her eyebrow markings rise at the sheer amount of metal in the skies above the planet. Corellia, known for its shipyards, at least allows the natural beauty of the world to show through; to be enhanced by the thin filigree of light and structure—a collection of jewels around the neck of the Eldest Brother.

She shakes her head at the errant thought of poetry in her brain. She allows her brain to return to the analytical.

Boge clears his throat from behind her. “Dock Control is signaling. They want to know our business.”

“Transmit the codes that Draq’ got us.” Ahsoka grins as she closes her mouth. The words had come from the young woman seated in the pilot’s seat—the seat of command. Meglann’s eyes widen as she turns to Ahsoka. Ahsoka places her hands on both Meglann’s and Murta’s shoulders. 

“They’ve accepted them,” Boge says quietly. Ahsoka nods; looks down at Meglann.

“Guess you’re up, Madam Emissary,” she says.

“Someone named Cairlin Dao is wishing to speak with you,” Boge says. Ahsoka feels Meglann’s shoulder tighten at the last name. She brings her hand closer to the younger woman’s cheek, her knuckles just touching. 

“It’s okay, sweetie,” she says quietly. “We knew we might meet some of your kin. You up for this?”

Meglann looks back and up to her. “Yeah, Ahsoka,” she says. “I am.”

“Never doubted it,” or at least something approximating those words comes from her right. Murta Locke looks away sheepishly.

Ahsoka steps back, out of the pickup to the comm system. “Guess you’re up.” She grins, gesturing towards Meglann’s simple cargo trousers and tank combination. “Much as I can appreciate the ‘pilot’ look, I think we might need to find something a bit more, uh, businesslike,” she says. 

Meglann’s smirk matches hers. “So are you taking me shopping, Fulcrum?” she asks. 

Ahsoka shakes her head emphatically. “Oh, hell no,” she says. “My only experience in retail therapy comes from Dani and Padme’ Amidala during the war. I don’t think either of those tastes would work.”

“I’ll take her,” says a quiet voice from behind. All three at the front of the compartment whirl at the giant behind them. 

“What?” Boge asks innocently. “I have a sister and a mother who dressed to the nines, at least before the sister went off and became a stormtrooper. Plus, I worked in a women’s clothing store in college, to make some extra drinking money.” 

Meglann gets up from the pilot’s chair. “You got layers, Bud,” she says. “But I’ve only seen you mostly wearing warmup and exercise wear.”

“Trust me,” is all he says. 

+=+=+=+=+=

Nola touches Dani’s shoulder, allowing Bryne to move towards the door. “What it is with you two? I’ve never seen the two of you like this.”

“Like what?” Dani says, her voice giving a slight warning.

“Circling around each other, pointedly ignoring the other. This isn’t you, Dani,” Nola says. 

“Why don’t you ask him,” Dani replies coolly. “Ask him why all he seems to be doing is whining about being locked into a marriage; not thinking about how his actions might affect others.” She looks away. 

“Jamelyn,” Nola says quietly. 

Dani doesn’t reply. 

“I know for a fact that he loves that little girl; would die for her,” Nola says. 

Dani smiles. “I’ve no doubt. But would he do whatever else it would take? For her. For Corellia.”

Bryne whirls, his eyes angry. “Yes, I would, _Caretaker_. But don’t expect me to roll over and not fight this, like you and your father seem to have. I’m going to do what I can to make the right choice, if I have to do this. I’m going to do it on my terms and in my way.”

Dani’s own eyes transition to a deep black, if only for a moment. Her skin remains a deeper crimson. “Your way? Being as difficult as you can? Only thinking about yourself?”

Nola places her hands on the shorter woman’s shoulders, turning her to face her. “Where the hell is this coming from?” Her eyes lock on Covenant. “From both of you?” She pulls Dani against her. “We can’t allow this shit to divide us. There’s something bigger than all of us at play.”

She reaches over and yanks Covenant towards them, pulling him into her arms. “They wouldn’t let me contact you, except to send you the interest of the Queen. There’s something that I absolutely will not keep from you, Bryne—,” she starts.

The door to the Queen’s chamber snaps open. A tall Handmaiden of about Bryne and Dani’s age, older than they are used to, stands gazing at them, her dark eyes searching. “They will see you now,” she says calmly.

Nola kisses both of them in her arms, releasing them. Bryne takes a deep breath. Dani reaches up and touches his cheek. “Bryne, I—.”

A sharp noise from the Handmaiden interrupts. She beckons. “They are waiting,” she says, her eyes as sharp as her voice.

Nola’s heart sinks as she sees Bryne and Dani’s perplexed expression at the pronouns. 

+=+=+=+=+=

Dani follows Bryne into the compartment. She manages to keep from running into him when he stops short. She closes her mouth as she looks around him. Her eyes fall on the figure seated at the other end. 

The figures. 

She looks over at Bryne. He stares, transfixed.

The woman grins at him, her dark eyes smiling as well. “Close your mouth. You’re letting flies in.”

Dani’s eyes, like Bryne’s are drawn to the sleeping infant held in the woman’s arms. 

“Meet your daughter, General,” she says. “This’ll probably be the one time that you get to see her.”

Dani’s skin flushes with anger as she starts to move around Covenant. She stops as he puts his hand on her arm. She looks up at him, allowing her eyes to transition back to the royal. 

He walks up to the mother. After a moment, Dani ignores his look and follows, coming to stand next to him. “And why is that?” he asks quietly, turning his gaze back to the woman. Dani looks at her closely for the first time. She notices, that even seated, she has a power about her—a power that her rich clothes and almost regal bearing enhance, but are not the catalysts for. The woman returns her gaze, her dark eyes searching, as if checking for weapons.

Dani smiles with recognition. “You’re the guard-captain. From our time on Naboo. Hana?” she says.

“Former guard-captain,” she says. She looks back at Bryne. “You told her about me?”

“I have no secrets from Dani. She is—,” he stops, as if searching for a word. “She is my sister of the heart. My cousin by marriage as well.” 

Unaccountably, Dani feels herself swell with pride, as the Zeltron word for him comes to her mind. _Trah-gere. Brother of the heart._

Hana’s eyes back move to Dani. “If you could excuse us, I would appreciate it,” she says quietly.

“If you want to leave, go right ahead,” Dani says, before good sense can take over. “I stay with him. No one gets to hurt him like I think you’re about to.” Her mouth crooks slightly. “Except maybe me.”

“You can say anything in front of Dani,” Covenant says. “I’ve known her since the early part of the war. She knows who I am.” He stops. “What I am.”

Dani feels the gaze of the mother lock onto her. “That’s all well and good, but I’m responsible for this little bundle of joy’s safety and security. If it gets out that her father is a wanted criminal—a member of a proscribed organization, then she could suffer.” Her eyes narrow at Bryne. “Especially since he seems to be plastering his holo all over the gossip rags with whatever _companion_ he can be seen with.”

Through her gift, Dani feels his heart sink. She doesn’t back down. “You might want to get your story straight, sweetie. One, those stories were mostly sliced into the newsbanks. Two, if you look closely at them, you’ll see his face is usually indistinct. Just like it is, now, to you—even standing here.” She feels her eyes tear. “Only the ones closest to him, truly know what he actually looks like.” Hana recoils from the meaning of her words.

To her surprise, she sees Hana slump. “Then that makes this even harder. It’s not just the fact of what he is. I thought it would be easy to push him away. It’s not.” She stands up and closes the slight distance to Bryne. With one hand, she reaches up and touches his cheek. With the other, she hands the tiny girl to him.

Dani is treated to a view of Covenant that few, if any, have ever seen. The look in his eyes is indescribable as he holds the girl gingerly, wrapping her in his arms.

“She’s beautiful,” he whispers. “Can’t be mine,” he finishes with a slight smirk.

Both Dani and Hana look at one another and simultaneously roll their eyes. Both women catch the move in harmony and stop themselves, before grinning sheepishly. 

As if on cue, the girl opens her eyes, staring up at Covenant. That tiny glance, before the eyes close, confirms what Hana has said. Dani’s own eyes tear. The slight glimpse, allows a play of colors through the orbs. In shape and general color, the girl has her mother’s eyes. The angle of the light, the expression, exposes the warm hint of gold-flecked green.

The sensation is enhanced by the skeptical look that she gives Covenant before going back to sleep. In that one instant, the whole gamut of Covenant-looks moves through the tiny version in his arms. Skepticism, examination, then brief warmth as she realizes he is not a threat. 

Dani is unable to stifle the sob. She turns away. Hana stops her with a hand on her arm. “No, cousin. I was wrong. Stay.”

Hana reaches up and kisses Bryne gently. “It’s not only her physical safety I’m worried about.”

“Your husband,” he says. 

She nods. “We’re at an, well, I guess the word would be _understanding_. He’s under house arrest, in disgrace for his part in that conspiracy against the two Senators. I’ve managed to wrest the company—the oldest and most powerful financial house on Naboo—from him, amidst great opposition from the board. If it was proven that I committed adultery—that Sosha is not his, we would lose everything—her future. Our lives might be in danger, as well, from some of the sharks circling.” She looks down. “I have managed to turn Shaizan Financial—the Exalted and Noble House—into something that I hope can be a force for good.”

Bryne nods. “You’ve been helping Bail and others with this little social club of theirs.”

“Yes. Riyo Chuchi’s our advocate and a member of our board. We’ve been quietly making deals, moving money around, getting our fingers into pies throughout the galaxy. Between the Queen’s Handmaidens and I, we’ve have quite the little information gathering initiative.”

“Something important,” he whispers. He looks down at his daughter, then at the stars in the view port. Dani sees the indecision in his eyes—the pain. She concentrates on the little girl, who has wakened again. Dani notices that he is looking at her again. His eyes are firm, decision in them.

The pain is still there as well.

“Sosha,” he says, as if trying it out. “I know your name as my own. You are my daughter,” he says. Dani recognizes the Basic translation of a Mandalorian phrase—the words of acknowledgement, usually spoken shortly after birth. He reaches down and kisses her forehead. 

He moves Sosha over to Dani, who touches the tiny cheek with her index finger, then kisses her gently.

Bryne looks up at Hana. “I know, Hana. I’ve responsibilities of my own. Not just this damned marriage circus.”

“Yeah. The Queen will be withdrawing her name.” She grins. “Sorry for the blow to your ego, but it was just a plausible ruse to get you here. Although,” she says, the grin growing more mischievous, “she did say she was willing for her mind to be changed, after she tested you out.”

Dani laughs, allowing herself to take on a slightly hucksterish voice. “I can attest that he has all of his parts and that they work well.”

Hana joins the laughter. “I can, as well.” She gives a hooded look at Dani. “Although the Queen would swear to the fact that you have all of the functioning parts as well, dear.”

Bryne turns to Dani. “What is it with you?” he asks.

She just smiles and shrugs. 

Sosha interrupts the laughter with a slight, fussy cry. Hana smiles. “Time for the spicket,” she says. She opens her top unselfconsciously. Bryne takes a deep breath, hands Sosha over, reluctantly. 

Both he and Dani are transfixed as the girl starts to suck hungrily at Hana’s breast. He looks Hana in the eye. “I’ll do what you want, Hana,” he says. “I’ll stay away.”

Dani pulls him tighter. Hana nods after a moment. “If there was any other way—,” she starts.

He shakes his head. “There isn’t,” he says tersely. He looks down. 

Hana reaches up to kiss him. “Thank you.” She looks at Dani, then moves over to kiss her as well. “Look after him,” she says. 

“I will. There are others who will, as well, now.”

Hana looks at Bryne. He returns her gaze. “I found someone. From my former life. Somebody I grew up with. I thought that she was dead when we made love, Hana. I was mourning her and others.”

“Will she be in the marriage sweepstakes?” she asks.

He shakes his head, smiling ruefully. “No. She has her own responsibilities. We’re not too exclusive,” he says, looking at Dani. “We have a bond, from her culture—an oath to one another, but it—.” He breaks off.

He nods and turns away. He looks back at Sosha one last time before exiting the room.

Dani’s eyes fall at his expression. Hana nods. “Tell him that we’ll figure some way for him to be in her life.”

As she follows Bryne, Dani wonders if that would make this more painful


	8. The Covenant’s Got Potential

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Negotiating with the families of Fondor, for a parade of the sublime and the ridiculous. On Corellia, injured, but apparently not reserved. Could it be that simple?

Boman Torstan’ii watches his Prime heart-bond laugh at something that Queen Kylantha says as the two women greet each other. He smiles at the laughter; something that he hasn’t heard from Kanyly in months—ever since she had given up the Caretaker’s mantle for the Chalice of Omri—the protector of their world’s protector. He looks away, concentrating on the stars. He smiles softly; thinking of her new responsibility—now that she is unable to continue in assisting Alyysina Faygan. He reaches out and touches her dark-gold hair, now regrown from the shaven look of the Caretaker. She touches his hand as it moves through the waves. The newly elected Senator of the _You-kah-Torin_ , as their world is known in their mother-tongue, dazzles him with her own brilliant smile—something that had captivated him nearly forty years ago.

He comes back to the present, as he notices Queen Kylantha is watching them. She reaches out and touches them both where their hands touch, clasping them.

“It’s good to see you both,” Kylantha says, the smile traveling to her blue eyes. “I’m glad that the Land of Song is able to help in this, well, whatever the hell it is.” 

Boman nods at her words—the basic translation of his world’s name. He chuckles. “That’s as good a way as any to describe it.” He watches as Kanyly’s eyes grow sad again. “We owe the Corellians a great deal. They provided invaluable assistance to us when the Empire came.” His eyes close as he remembers the swelling of his people’s resonances, all joined together, focused through the gift of one woman. A woman who had given up her daughter—all that she had, for her birthright and her world. Her daughter who now serves her father’s world—a daughter in the next compartment.

A powerful woman who had been assisted by his heart’s love, standing next to him; now unable to serve her world as the Caretaker of the Chalice—as any Caretaker is after the use of their people’s conjoined resonances in defense of their world. He realizes that Kylantha is speaking again.

“...understand that you’re soon to be related to Bel Iblis, at least by marriage,” the Queen finishes. 

“Yes. We’ll soon take Dani’s cousin as our heart-bond in a few month’s time.” He reaches over and kisses Kanyly. “We have to get through Kanyly’s installation as Senator. Plus, Bel Iblis is going to be helping us with some of our liquor industry.”

Boman sees the Queen’s face grow sober. “I want to let you know that we might have stumbled upon the location of one who’s been lost to you.”

Boman feels Kanyly’s hand tighten on his. He manages to find his voice. “Danalaan?” he whispers.

Kylantha nods. “Yes. One of our operatives came across your youngest daughter during the course of an operation on Coruscant. We weren’t able to contact her, but she seemed to be involved with some shady people there.”

Boman closes his eyes. He feels a warm hand tap on his forehead. “Hey,” his bond says. “She’s made her choice to leave the Home. We can only try to bring her back to the family’s love, at least.”

Kanyly turns to the Naboo. “Thank you for the information. If you can give us a report, we’ll investigate further and see about helping her find her way.” She grins. “Perhaps the Covenant will help us. He seems a most capable young man, in that arena.” This last is said with a sidelong glance at Boman, her eyes twinkling. “As well as others.”

Kylantha raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t ask the question so apparent on her face. Instead, she brings her hands up to their faces. “Very well. If we can be of assistance, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

A Handmaiden walks in, signaling to the Queen with a look. Kylantha nods. “They’re all going to be departing soon. I have to say my farewells. I’ll be back in a few minutes. Please—make yourselves comfortable.” She gives a hooded look to them both. “I’d love to explore a bit of your culture—in the interests of building relations between our worlds.”

Boman laughs, bringing the Queen and his Prime closer to him. “We’re very good at cultural relations.”

+=+=+=+=+=

Drop stares dangerously at the admin droid in the office of the Dao half of the Dao-Aspeff shipyard. An hour before, he had walked in with the datachip outlining the willingness of the Covenant to entertain the Betrothal request of the Dao. Or the Aspeff. He shifts in the uncomfortable chair in an attempt to bring feeling back into his ass. Since he had fed the chip into the droid, there had been nothing.

He sighs, a sound heard at least fifty times in the last hour. The droid shows no sign of sympathy, or even any sign of being impressed by the sight of his manly physique squeezed into the business suit. He stifles an eyeroll. He was the one who had been forced to go shopping with Boge, when it was decided (by others, he might add—a certain Togruta ex-Jedi and a new-minted Ensign) that he would make the initial contact with the Yard. He had, of course, protested, saying that his face was too recognizable, and that he was more apt to tear someone’s arms off and beat them with the bloody stumps than negotiate anything.

Ahsoka had given her almost lethal Smirk and then placed her fingers against his lips, to still any protests. “You’re going to be muscle, big guy. Some people are employing ex-GAR troopers. Plus, your face is different enough from our brothers that it might not come up.”

“Yeah, I’m the best looking of the bunch,” he says, deflecting with humor, as he always did.

Ahsoka had grinned. “I don’t know. Rex could get my heart fluttering on occasion,” she says. 

“Yeah, right. You know he got those blonde locks out of a bottle, right?”

Both of their expressions had grown sad as they look away from each other, neither contemplating where Rex might be. Covenant had told them both of his earlier contact a couple of years ago. Ahsoka had tried to find him, but to no avail.

Ahsoka had been the first to break the pain. She had patted the lapels of his coat, straightening them. “I’ve got to admit, big guy. You clean up pretty well. Boge has good taste.”

“Yeah,” he had admitted. “He managed to survive the experience.” He looks at Meglann. “Guess you’re up next in the cavalcade of fashion, Shiny.”

“Marvelous.” A gleam comes into her eye. “At least I get to boss Fulcrum around, since she’ll be working for me.”

The look on the new employee’s face is priceless. “Don’t push it,” she says sourly. “Maybe I’ll poison your food, ‘Boss’,” she says. 

“Only if you cook it,” Drop and Meglann say, almost in unison.

Thoughts of why they are here drag him back to the present. He shifts slightly and looks out the window. Fondor reminded him of parts of Corellia, teeming with activity and industry, but was closer to Coruscant as a true-city planet. A Corellia before its people, spearheaded by Covenant’s grandmother, had begun to shift the industry—the shipyards that they were known the galaxy over for, to orbit. The effects had already started to show in the slightly clearer blue skies (at least at higher levels of Coronet); of the historic and nature preserves of the Shields—the traditional seats of the Covenants. Corellia, even before the shift, had used the land in such a way that it could never become an ecumenopolis. 

He shakes his head. Under the Empire, with its insatiable demand for ships, the industries and factories had begun to shift back to the surface, in addition to orbit. The old lizard, Bel Iblis, had been fighting it, as well as others, but their objections had been pushed aside by the current rulers. Drop wonders when he had started to care about the future of a planet, as he contemplates the idea of Corellia being overwhelmed with the reddish-brown haze of smog that lies over this endless city, the product of belching smokestacks. He smiles as his mind’s eye flows to the sight of a little girl with his face, as well as her mother’s, wrestling with another little girl in the green grass. _Probably around the time he became responsible for her,_ he thinks.

Drop closes his eyes as he thinks of his brother. Of the pure joy that he had felt when seeing Croft— _no, Covenant_ , again. Of the joy that he had seen as the Corellian and Ahsoka interacted, their snark and care apparent to anyone with eyes. He grins. _The whole lot of them as well_. Dani, who with a grin, could still make his stomach drop and his heart flutter, as if he was newly uncorked and going through puberty again. Nola, the sarcastic Naboo, whose height nearly matches his—a young woman who he had helped escape a Separatist hellhole in the war. A young woman whose own snark and calculating gaze camouflaged a deep well of care for her loved ones. Now this new girl, Meglann, the youngest, so fiercely loyal to Ahsoka and Bryne—probably in that order. A young woman growing in her confidence as she steps into a larger universe than she had ever imagined. 

He curses as he thinks of how this whole marriage thing—the arrangement of it—might jeopardize all of that. Not just the personal, but the idealistic, as well. In the short time, they and the others—Boge and Murta; Phygus, Ano, and even the droids had forged themselves into something that could make a difference in the darkness.

Drop’s eyes rise to the door behind the droid. A tall figure, but one hunched over from her full height, stands framed in the door. An older woman, her hands resting on a cane, examines him. He rises as he tries to estimate her age, but fails, as his eyes are drawn immediately to hers, which appraise him. They appear to be ageless; filled with wisdom, but with a bright spark of energy. The dark eyes run over him, but in the way of a fighter sizing up an opponent. 

Drop takes a deep breath, returning the appraisal. His eyes widen as he realizes that the sides of her head are hairless, a mass of graying brown curls piled in a bun on top of her head. A bright jewel, a powerful azure, rests in the center of her forehead. He remembers his primer on the natives of this world. A near-human, highly intelligent people, marked by being completely hairless and with purple blood.

He wonders where this woman falls in the makeup of this world. He shakes his head, breaking the stare.

One side of the woman’s lips quirk up—only for an instant before returning to the calm examination. _Okay, not just calm_. The old woman looks him up and down—again—this time more appreciatively. He stands straighter, remembering the lessons drilled into him on Kamino.

“I guess you’re from the Blackthorns,” she says in a quiet voice, using Covenant’s family name. “I’m Yosta Aspeff. I’m here to negotiate on behalf of the Yard.”

Drop remembers his manners and bows. “I’m just the messenger, milady. The representative will be along soon.”

Yosta nods, scanning over him again as if taking his measure. “Pity you aren’t the candidate,” she says. 

Drop manages, or at least he hopes that he manages, not to flush at her inspection. “I wasn’t asked,” he says dryly.

His eyes widen as a gleam comes into the dark eyes. “Well, could be advantageous. Maybe I’ll get a consolation prize.”

Drop is saved from any further propositions by the door opening behind him. He turns and is poleaxed. 

Meglann Florlin, who he’d only seen clad in spacer’s clothes (except for the brief time he had seen her without any garments, before he had averted his eyes), stands in the door.

The young woman is definitely not wearing work trousers. He grins as he recognizes the pieces-parts of her outfit. A dark coat he identifies from one of Nola’s business ensembles, that somehow manages to fit the Alderaani, in spite of her thinner frame and lesser height. A bright, airy gray skirt, with hints of the color of Dani Faygan’s purple eyes—a skirt that surely comes from a Zeltron business suit, falls just below her knees at an angle.

He grins as he sees the top. A pure white dress shirt, opened to just above her midriff, completes the ensemble, for a bit of calculating distraction. _She looks a lot better in it than Covenant does_. 

He starts to smirk, but is stilled by a hard look from her usually sparkling brown eyes. Her regrowing bronze curls, normally somewhat tamed in a ponytail, are slicked back almost flat against her skull. Drop lets his breath out at the sight.

 _New universes._

His eyes briefly light on the tall figure behind Meglann, the distinctive features of her birthright hidden in a hooded cloak—all except the powerful blue eyes, which meet his briefly, before returning to the perusal of the floor. 

He turns back to Yosta, gauging her reaction. His stomach clinches as he sees her eyes widen slightly as they track up to Meglann’s face. He turns back to his boss-for-the-moment.

Her eyes are transfixed on a portrait. He follows her gaze. A tall, handsome human male, all dark eyes and square jaw; a flopping part of his hair over the left side of his forehead, looks placidly back at them. 

Drop sees that Meglann holds her breath as she stares. 

+=+=+=+=+=

Tamsin hobbles from the lift onto the upper floor of the housing section of the Grande Corellian—a sprawling edifice near the Government District, notable in its lack of a modern exterior, but with comparable height to the government buildings around it. She rests her body against the marbled wall in the small anteroom before the Diktat’s suite. She manages to catch her breath, as she tries to decide which parts of her body hurts the most—the throbbing head, the pulsating ribs, the karked-up shoulder, or the pain where she assumes her now-healing liver is located. She grits her teeth as her mind’s eye can see that damned medical droid’s superior _I told you so_ expression on its face.

Or at least what she interprets as an expression. _Could just be that she needs an lubricant change._

The pilot’s comm chimes. She manages to not fall on her ass while fumbling for it. She sees the text light blinking; glances at the screen. Her eyes narrow as she reads the Mandalorian script of her birthworld.

She gives a few choice words that would’ve drawn disapproving looks from those of her adopted family’s peaceful world. 

She switches her gaze to the young Pantoran standing in the now-open door of the address of her appointment. “I should’ve known, Ano, that you’d be involved. So where the hell is Jana? She’s usually not far behind.”

The chime sounds. _Thankfully, I only have to be bothered by one pain in my ass today. Unless you count former heads of state._

The pilot narrows her eyes at the slicer. “I thought that you were with her and her little circus on some super secret squirrel shit.” She grits her teeth.“Something that had to do with those assholes that attacked us,” she finishes, her face hot.

A chime. _Phygus was needed there to hold Covenant’s hand. Or something else_. Tamsin grins as she sees the usually thunderous expression on Ano’s face darken even more. _Apparently the time-space continuum would rupture if Phygus and I get more than five minutes in the same sector together_.

Tamsin nods, her eyes growing soft for at least a quarter-minute. She moves her left arm—her good arm to the wall. She pushes off. Before she can overbalance, Ano surprises her and lifts her arm over her skinny shoulders, taking her weight as they move to the apartment. Tamsin smiles gratefully. “Thanks, Ano. Didn’t know you cared,” she says.

“I don’t,” comes here rarely heard voice. “Just want to get this over with so that I can go back to my game.”

“Oh!” Tamsin exclaims, stopping.

“What is it?” Ano asks, her features slightly worried.

“I’m just suddenly overwhelmed with feels right now at your care and sensitivity.”

Tamsin doesn’t bother checking her comm as Ano one-hands a text. She is sure that it refers to her in a less-than-complimentary description of her parentage, or her resemblance to the aft end of a bantha. _Probably has preselected keys for them_ , Tamsin thinks with a grin.

She stops as she notices who she assumes is the owner of the penthouse. A pair of dark eyes watch the byplay between the two young women with something like amusement. Tamsin stops as she realizes that the woman is leaning on a cane, her leg apparently stiff and barely yielding. Tamsin’s eyes return to her face. The woman is older, maybe in her late forties, but could convince anyone of her youth. She is slightly taller than the pilot, her dark hair cut in a bob, with a touch of white at the front.

Her eyes brim with intelligence—with curiosity, but both are ripped with a harbinger of pain. Tamsin shakes off Ano’s assistance, walks over to her and holds out her hand. The woman takes it, before pulling her into a warm hug.

When they break away, the woman’s smile broadens. “I’m Shyla Merricope. Draq’ Bel Iblis asked me to look into something. Said I could use any of his assets at CEC.”

“Oh, so I’m an asset, now?” Tamsin says, her face growing hot again. 

“Some would debate that, my dear. Especially a certain former Alderaani government official.

Tamsin rolls her eyes. “Vorserrie. Well, at least I’ve a job,” she says. 

Shyla laughs. “She also said you’re a damned good pilot, with a good brain, if you can cut through the bullshit.”

“Some would say the same about her. Except for the pilot part. I know for a fact she can’t fly for shit.” Tamsin looks down, her heart sinking. “Don’t know about the pilot part for me,” she finishes. 

Shyla reaches over and lifts her chin, bringing her eyes back to Shyla’s. “I think that you’ll be back, plowing through the trade routes in no time. Snark and stubbornness go a long way towards healing.”

Tamsin lifts her good arm and touches Shyla’s cheek. Both women are quiet. 

A dual comm chime sounds. _Would you two like to be alone? Not into watching today. Or a threesome._

“Mind your manners, Ano,” Tamsin says. “I’ve still got a crew that can hold you down and tickle you into insensibility.” She looks at Shyla. “I think you might know a thing or two about snark and stubbornness.”

Shyla merely smiles, drawing her to a loveseat.

Ano sits across from them, kicking her shoes off and pulling her feet under her. She flips a dual pair of data monocles down over her eyes and pulls out a controller pad. She is soon engrossed, seemingly ignoring both women. Tamsin grins; knowing better.

She turns to Shyla. “Aren’t you some sort of politician?” she asks. 

Shyla gives a tight smile. “Some sort. I used to lead this world, until the Empire came in and persuaded the Great and General Council that my services were no longer needed.”

“Lot of that going around,” Tamsin observes dryly. “What does a washed-up politician need with a slightly washed-up pilot?”

“Need you to look into some things for me. Namely who the hell is behind this whole Betrothal thing with the Covenant.”

“I ain’t a cop,” Tamsin starts. She grins. “Wonder if a washed-up pilot might be in the running?”

“About as much as a washed-up politician,” Shyla replies. 

“He’s a fun ride, once you get through the bullshit.”

Shyla’s expression doesn’t change, except for becoming a bit more devilish. “You aren’t the only one in this room that might have first-hand experience,” she says. 

Tamsin looks at her comm, in anticipation. _It isn’t me. I don’t know where he’s been_. 

Shyla grows serious. “Enough about him. I think there are larger issues behind this. Something that doesn’t bode well for my world.”

Tamsin nods. “What do you need me to do?”

“Go where Ano and I send you. If you have some muscle you can trust, bring them into the know. I still have some power; if it’s needed.”

“I don’t have much muscle. I have an Obie. He’s quite useful, once you get past the blushing. Plus, I’ve some tricks up my sleeve of my own.

“Point me in the right direction, your Worship,” she says. 

Shyla grins again, an irrepressible expression. “There are a couple of people you might want to pay a visit to. One from the sticks, the other closer to home. Don’t break them, yet.”

+=+=+=+=+=

Nola stares at Dani and Covenant, as they studiously ignore one another. Dani’s attention is glued to a holocomm, a little girl with a thunderous expression on her face staring at her, her arms crossed.

“How come Talle gets to go with her dad? How come I can’t come with you? I want to be with you—I don’t want to be stuck on Corellia while you’re out there.”

“Jamelyn, sweetie—,” Dani starts. She stops, unable to speak. Bryne looks up from his caf cup and sees the rare sight of Dani Faygan unable to continue. He reaches out and gently places his hand on hers. She looks away, her eyes tearing.

“Hey, Hopeless,” Bryne says. She shifts her eyes to his, but the thunder remains. 

“Talle’s older than you,” he says quietly. “Plus, she and her dad have been on their own for a long time. They had to sometimes fight to survive. Your mom wants you to have a place that you can call home for a bit, before you start taking over the universe.”

In spite of herself, Jamelyn giggles. Bryne’s words are just the respite Dani needs to wipe her tears and compose herself. She smiles at him, just as Nola places her hand on both of theirs. 

“Heart of my heart,” Dani says to the holo, “I’ll be home soon. Maybe your cousin will take you to a smashball or gravball game sometime. Or Nola’ll take you to a speederbike race, when we get back.” She grins. “In spite of all three of those activities being inferior to boloball or greenputt.”

It is Nola and Bryne’s turn to send their eyes to the overhead. “Yeah,” Nola says. “Watching greenputt. Almost as exciting as watching paint peel.”

“At least one of us here has actually won at greenputt, baby sister,” Dani says. “And boloball.”

“Hey, I came in third before I retired,” Nola says with smile. 

Dani matches her expression—something that warms Nola’s heart. “Yeah, guess we both have sets of trophies. What about his Eminence here?”

“I beat Drop in a game of rock, flimsi, blades one time,” he replies. Nola catches his grateful expression to them both.

Jamelyn’s expression is quizzical at their byplay. Nola sees her grow serious. “ _Abeeyeh_ ,” she starts. All three smile again at the Zeltron word for mother. As opposed to ‘momma’ for Ala. 

“What, hon?” Dani says. 

“Are you going to marry cousin Jame?”

Nola starts to laugh at Bryne’s and Dani’s floored expression. 

Her laughter fades as the three of them look thoughtfully at one another. 

_Could it be that easy? For any of us?_

+=+=+=+=+=

Ahsoka watches as Meglann sits across the table from Yosta Aspeff. The old woman’s dark eyes take in Meglann’s face. She had glanced once at Ahsoka, then dismissed her from her notice. Ahsoka resists the urge to roll her eyes, but then remembers her ‘place’. She does allow herself a brief shake of her head—very minutely, as not to be noticed. _Servants. According to some, it’s all that I ever could aspire to_. She grins as she thinks of people identifying Shaak Ti with her regal bearing and wry humor—not to mention her skill with a lightsaber and the Force—as a servant of any kind. 

She focuses on what Meglann is saying. “…Who is the Betrothal Candidate, ma’am?” she asks. 

Yosta smiles tightly. “Please, dear. We of the Aspeffs don’t stand on ceremony. It’s only when you deal with the Daos that you’ll be expected to genuflect and call them all sorts of titles and such.”

Ahsoka sees only a brief twitch in Meglann’s dark eyes. She had seen Meglann staring at the portrait as they had been introduced to Yosta. Meglann had shown her the holo of her father—one of the few physical reminders of him. She grins beneath the hood. She remembers the rank plaque given to Meglann by Bail Organa—one that Ahsoka catches her looking at whenever she thinks no one is watching her—the immense pride in every fiber of her thin body. _Meglann doesn’t need badges or holos. She is the physical reminder of them both. In body and in spirit._

“Is there some problem with the submission, Yosta? Between the two partners?” Meglann asks. 

“No, dear. Just three decades of rivalry and cutthroat business practices on both sides.” She pats her hip, where others they had met—mainly humans—on the world bear holstered weapons. The People, as the Fondorians call themselves, are content with a combination fusioncutter and vibroblade. “A few death-duels, as well,” Yosta finishes. Ahsoka watches as Yosta’s eyes narrow, as if seeing Meglann’s face for the first time.

“Tell, me, Emissary, have we met before?” she asks. “Have you ever been to Fondor at some point?”

To her credit Meglann’s expression doesn’t flinch. She smiles disarmingly. “I don’t believe that I have, Yosta,” she says.

Ahsoka tenses as she sees the old woman’s eyes narrow even more. Finally, Ahsoka releases the breath she had been holding as Yosta smiles. 

“My mistake,” she says simply. 

Meglann takes a sip of the brandy, manages not to cough, turns the expression into one of interest. “So what are some of the examples of these disputes?”

Yosta smiles. “Well, for one, the current Dao Yardmaster might not even be legitimate. When old Erich’s heir decided to leave his title behind for the Republic, the Senior Yard title should’ve passed to the Aspeffs. The Proviso of the Yard only identifies the immediate heir and their issue—even if the immediate heir gives up succession. Instead, they had the courts agree to Erich’s niece being made heir. Cairlin, who you’ll meet, is Erich’s grandnephew. The son of that niece. The original Yelena.”

“Pardon my intrusive questions, Yosta,” Meglann starts. She takes a deep breath. “The portrait of Erich’s original heir. He appears to be human.”

Yosta smiles. “Your insights do you credit, Meglann,” she says. “Erich was adopted by a Yard-Master of the People. He was raised as their child. A great honor. Humans now make up the next-to-largest numbers of our populations. Not always as shrewd at business as the People consider themselves, but great operations people.” She touches the bare skin above her ears. “My mother was human, who married the partnered Yard-Heir of Aspeff.”

“So, I see that you are filling our guest and potential family’s ears with your Aspeff lies, Mater Yosta,” comes a thickly accented voice from the door.

Ahsoka and Meglann turn. The spitting image of the portrait in the entry hall, save for a smoothly shaven head and drooping mustache—down to the square jaw and sharp brown eyes—stands just inside the door. A young girl of about eighteen or so, her hair bright silver stands above shaven skin next to him. 

The young girl smiles and bows to Yosta. Yosta smiles warmly at her, kissing the proffered cheek. 

_Looks like there’s no bad blood between those two_ , Ahsoka thinks. She feels her teeth clinch as she turns to the male—a man of about Covenant’s age.

There is silence as the tall man stares at Meglann. His hand twitches at his belt. Ahsoka’s hand seeks out the comforting weight of her saber under her cloak. As the two sides face off, Ahsoka realizes two things. Yosta had never answered Meglann’s question identifying the Betrothal Candidate.

Of the second, Yosta remains seated, a broad grin on her face.


	9. The Yardmaster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Covenant arrives. Ship-finding. Soup, salad, and a side of chaos. New skills. A Captain of the Honorable Company. The Ensign sacrifices a work of art for the Cause. Quiet moments.

Meglann smiles as she watches the older _Gonzati_ -class cruiser with the crest of Zeltros on its hull, arc in for a landing on the platform. She watches the technique of the pilot, trying to glean anything from it—sponging as much as she can for her own skills. A quest that had started with warm hands—hands belonging to a child of that beautiful world—placing her own on the sidestick of her pride and joy. A pride and joy at least as old as this one, but with a different purpose. 

Meglann’s eyes widen as she sees the ship bounce once, then twice on its landing gear. _Well, that’s not Dani_ , she thinks to herself. 

The mystery is solved a few minutes later when she hears the conversation from the three figures walking down the ramp.

“…you think that you couldn’t let Nola fly anymore? Or at least not in any case that requires anything other than flying in a straight line? Hell, even that’s risky,” finishes a warm, deep drawl, with a tiny hint of Mandalorian in its words.

An even warmer, lighter voice—just with a hint of that same drawl in the intonations, replies, “How else is she going to improve, if she doesn’t practice? Besides, I’m the one who has to explain that little bounce to their Excellencies. She just doesn’t have the touch yet.”

Another voice cuts in, this with a snark-filled Mid-Rim accent. “Enough. ‘She’ is standing next to you. I wouldn’t’ve bounced if their Excellencies hadn’t been spilling the resonance over in their important ‘consultations’ in their cabin. Besides,” Nola says with a hooded look at Dani, “you’ve never complained about my touch, before. Neither of you.”

The next words are lost forever as Bryne’s eyes fall on Meglann. As she is engulfed in a deep hug from all of them, she wonders if she is lucky or unlucky in her new family of choice.

 _Definitely lucky_ , she thinks, as she kisses each one in turn. 

“Hey, Hammer,” Covenant says. “How’s the fam? Ready to move to Fondor?”

She rethinks that assessment of luck as Dani and Nola giggle at her expression. Bryne sees the look in her eyes. His own expression softens. She forces a smile and leads them over to a small circle of chairs in an area shielded from the elements surrounding the floating platform.

“How are you, Meg?” he asks as they sit. 

“I’m okay, Bryne. I can only hope that my father wasn’t as big of an asshole as his first cousin, once removed,” she replies. She smiles as Dani takes her hand in hers. 

She shakes her head, determined to complete the job. “I’ve got the proposal from them. Cairlin made it perfectly clear that I was only to be trusted with the basics.”

“Do you think that they know who you are?” Nola asks.

Meglann ponders this. “I don’t know? He definitely made a move towards his weapon, but stopped himself. He might’ve felt the feeling of absolute menace from Ahsoka.”

They all smile at that. “He was polite, but firm. By the way, he is a Commander in the Imperial Navy. I think he’s on extended leave. Some sort of a medical issue,” Meglann continues. “There’s also no love lost between him and Yosta Aspeff, the head of the Comptroller part of the Yard. He sent her away, pretty quick.

“I’m supposed to meet with her at some point. She said she would fill me in on stuff that she thought was important for us to know.” She falls quiet for a moment. 

“So who am I supposed to marry, this week?” Covenant asks. “Not that it really matters, but I’d like to know.”

“He is tentatively offering his sister Yelena up for Betrothal. I met her. Seems pretty bright.”

She sees Bryne’s eyes narrow. “How old is she? Does it even seem remotely like she has a say in it?”

Meglann nods. “She’s eighteen,” she replies. She holds her hand up at the beginnings of thunder on Covenant’s face. “She’s of age on Fondor, as she’s the heir. He’s also willing for a long betrothal, for her to reach an age that you’re comfortable with. If we object, he has another solution.”

Bryne stares at her. “And, what, pray tell, might that be?” he asks airily.

“He will offer himself up for marriage. He’ll just ask that Yelena be made the Heir to the Covenant Chain, and to the Electoral Signet, until Jamelyn’s children supersede her.”

Bryne doesn’t flinch at the suggestion. “Okay,” is all he says. 

Dani rises, her skin and eyes showing her own anger. “What the hell do you mean, ‘okay’,” she snarls. “You’re seriously considering marrying an Imperial officer and putting an unknown into the line of succession for my daughter? Is this your way of trying to weasel out of this whole thing?”

His own eyes flash emerald as he rises. The uneasiness between them, that Meglann had sensed since the whole episode began rises to the forefront. “What the hell do you want me to do, Dani? You’ve been after me to take this seriously since we started. You act as if I don’t care about my family; about you and Jamelyn. This whole goddamned thing has been about me trying to figure out how to ensure that I can protect y’all. Sort of what my job, as I understand it, is.”

Both Nola and Meglann rise, Nola moving to Dani; Meglann to Bryne. Both of the younger women pull the two towards each other.

Bryne’s voice breaks, a hint of desperation in it. “I know you think I’m being selfish; thinking only of Ahsoka and whether I can keep seeing her. Well, she’s a part of me—as much as you, Jamelyn, Draq, these two—even Phygus, are. I have to weigh everybody’s safety and well-being with every action.” He looks away. “Maybe I ain’t cut out to do this. Maybe none of us are.” He reaches over and touches Dani’s cheek. After only a second, she covers his hand with hers.

“I never thought you were selfish, Jame,” she says, using his birthname. _“Na’trah-gere,”_ she adds. Meglann’s eyes widen at the unfamiliar word. Dani smiles at her confusion. “My brother-of-the-heart,” she explains. “Just as you are one of _na’ta’in-gere’e._ My sisters-of-the-heart.”

Nola can’t resist adding her shilling’s worth. “Means a little bit more than friends-that-fuck,” she says to Meglann.

The triple-eyeroll is felt in orbit. Dani returns her gaze to Bryne. “I’m the one besides Ahsoka and Phygus that has known you the longest. I know what it takes for you to be who you are.” She looks down. “I guess I’m taking it out on the person who I’m not smart enough to figure a way out for him and another sister,”she says. “A sister who I’ve nearly died with.”

Nola takes this moment to speak again. “Then why don’t we all just say the hell with it and get smart enough. I think the Dragon is already probably manipulating time and space to come up with a solution.” She grins. “Of course, you have three eligible brides here. Maybe all three of us, especially since one of us is a Zeltron.” She grins. “That would make some on the Electoral Council spit blood.”

“I’d never survive the experience,” Bryne says, a slight smile quirking his lips. He looks at the others. “We already have somebody looking into this as an angle.”

“So what about the ships?” Dani asks. 

Meglann nods. “Drop and Ahsoka are nosing around. Nola, Dani, and I’ll meet Ahsoka for lunch to learn what they’ve found out.”

“Great,” Bryne says. “At least Ahsoka might bring some subtlety to nosing around. Barely. Is there a date with my prospective bride or groom?”

“Tonight. The Daos will meet you, the Proctor, and any other advisors and retainers for dinner tonight.” She stops, taking a breath. “Except for me, of course. Apparently, I’ve fulfilled my use to the Dao.” She grins. “Maybe you’ll get lucky tonight, your Eminence,” she says. “He is easy on the eyes.”

She chooses to ignore his reply.

“So what am I supposed to be doing while all this derring-do on my behalf is taking place?” he asks.

“The Proctor will take you back to the ship until she’s to meet us,” Meglann says firmly. “I’m sure the Torstans can find some way to entertain you; to keep your mind off of your very difficult trials.” She breaks eye contact, looks at the others. “Make sure you all keep comms and weapons to hand. All of the Yardmaster class travels armed and they are very prickly. Especially the humans and half-humans,” she says in a firm voice.

Her eyes widen at the stifled grins. “What?”

As one, the other three snap to attention and give at least two different interpretations of a proper military salute, the second being from the one who has never saluted in her life. 

“Aye, aye, Ensign,” cuts through her hearing in mezzo-soprano, alto, and baritone, as she blushes.

+=+=+=+=

Ahsoka watches her oversized associate shake hands with the human Yard worker; the worker visibly anxious as he swings his head around, gazing at all of the exits of the small spaceport lounge. Drop catches her eye as he turns to walk with the contact to the exit. 

She takes a deep breath, shifting on her ass. It had been three hours of waiting and watching for his contact, seated separately, watching each other’s backs. Making sure to ignore each other. She releases the breath, then turns her eyes towards the huge windows on the far wall. She focuses on a large grain-hauler on the final push of its repulsor-lift, just before the main engines engage. She can feel the vibration in her montrals as the transparisteel rattles slightly from the massive thrusters. Her eyes are in the direction of the outgoing and incoming traffic, but her mind is on her past and her future.

Mostly, her mind tracks over the events of the last year—the loss and gain of a part of her past life, as well as additions because of that gain. 

She tells herself, as she had insisted to Meglann, that is the worth to her cause is what causes her emotions and thoughts to reel, why those brain-weasels are not the ordered thoughts of a Fulcrum of a secret galactic movement.

She shakes her head, willing the errant thoughts to circle to the back of her brain. Ahsoka starts as she realizes that Drop has returned to the table and is gazing at her, his eyebrow raised. “You know that you need to get your head in the game, Mouse,” he says quietly. “This isn’t a world that you can afford to lose your focus.”

Ahsoka pushes the sheepish grin from her face. “I know, Balor,” she says, reverting to codenames. “Thanks.”

“You’re thinking of your ‘prince’ problem, right?” he asks, his voice as dry as dust. 

“Maybe.”

“You do know that you’ve got to give him a chance, right? He _is_ smarter than he looks.”

She laughs. “Not saying much,” she says, as she know he expects. “Enough about my adolescent problem. What about the packages?”

“That shaking leaf just told me that the one we’re particularly interested in, is the subject of some consternation. It was docked at a Dao-owned platform; through some strange agreement with their so-called partners, the platform changed hands to the Aspeffs before they could get it out.” He checks the door again. “These assholes are touchy. There may be a gun-battle or two over it.”

Ahsoka is quiet as she digests this. “What about the other Nebbies?” she asks. 

“My leaf said that there are at least three others that’ve arrived in the last few weeks. Didn’t know where they were.”

Three shadows fall over them. Ahsoka looks up and sees three women, each powerful in their own way, standing over the booth. 

Drop grins. “Guess I’m not invited to the lunch meeting of the ‘I settle, therefore I kriff Bryne Covenant’ society?”

“Oh, no, big guy,” Ahsoka says. “We were hoping you’d stay and relate your own testimonial about settling. Stick around, and we’ll paint your toenails.

His smirk rivals hers. He reaches down and pulls off his right shoe and sock. On the huge big toe, an electric blue nail stares back at them. The other toes are marked with equally bright colors. 

The other three women join her in laughter at the expression of sheepish pride on his face. All four reach out and touch his cheek. “Talle did it. She kind of insisted that she get to practice.”

Ahsoka watches him leave, her own look of love mirroring that of the other women.

+=+=+=+=+=

Tamsin manages to keep the fist of her good arm from smashing into Slan Fells’s face, instead moving it down to take the proffered peaked cap from the butler-droid. She nods towards Slan, sure that she can feel his eyes on her ass as she leaves his borrowed townhouse.

 _Well, at least Morn talked about something other than herself,_ she thinks, as she enters the backseat of the landspeeder. The droid moves the vehicle onto the main roads. Tamsin thinks about her conversations with the two new members of the Electoral Council. 

Kath Morn had almost been a breath of fresh air when compared to the second visit. She had merely spoken of what the Covenant of Corellia—the old traditions had meant to saving Corellia’s environment—a need that was arising again with the New Order. She thinks of Fells.

“Yep,” she whispers to herself. “Ol’ Slan sure does like the first-person pronoun a lot.” Her face darkens, running hot. “That and talking about how the ‘outsiders’ were taking over and causing Corellia’s ruin.”

She falls silent as the chauffeur-droid swivels its head around, its yellow eyes staring at her. She shakes her head

_Wonder what he would think if he knew that this brave Corellian officer was a dirty Mando—one of the descriptions he used. Tamsin grins. Or worse yet, a puling Alderaani._

She shakes her head. When Shyla had told her she was going to meet the two Councilors, to try and figure out the endgame—or at least who was behind it, the politician had suggested an outfit more appropriate than her tank top and work pants. _Or her beskar’gam_ , she thinks with a grin.

She looks down at herself ruefully. The bottle green, almost black frockcoat uniform, tight across her chest, its straps hanging down from the center in regulation fashion, with the dark purple backing showing to the world her discomfort at the tight, high collar. She glances down at the trousers. The red on gold lace of the Corellian Bloodstripe—the second rank, was not part of this ruse.

It was hers, awarded after the attack on her ship. She shakes her head as she thinks of the young officer who had preceded her out of the hole in the ship. He would never get to wear his. 

By the consensus of the crew, only he had been awarded the first rank. Tamsin, Obie, and the others who had fought to save the crew, would only accept the second. She is not sure why she even got one. 

The one who had saved them all, who had fought the hardest would never be able to accept an award. Tamsin tries to think of a snarky thought, but can’t as her mind travels back, seeing Jana’s outstretched hand, an unknown power pulling her back into the bridge, just before she collapses. 

“If you try, dear, I’m thinking you’ll be able to think of something appropriately smartass to say to her.” _If you see her again._

She realizes that she has arrived at the Grande again. She gets out, pulling the cap on in regulation fashion. The uniform might be a ruse, but she won’t do anything to dishonor it—or those who had worn it before her.

As the door to Shyla’s apartment opens, she walks in, unbuttoning the coat. “Damn, I’m glad to get out of this thing—,” she starts. She stops at the halfway mark, realizing that she only wears a halter underneath the uniform and that Shyla is not alone. 

Kris Tome, the solemn bodyguard for the Elector of Corellia, eyes her with amusement. A bit more amusement than when she had handled the bundle of the uniform to her.

A small girl, her features so similar to Bryne Covenant, save for gray eyes, looks up at her quietly. She grins as she sees Tamsin’s open coat. 

“Great,” Tome says, “it’s hard enough to get her to keep her shoes on.”

Tamsin turns to greet Shyla, when she realizes that a much older woman sits next to her. A woman with pure white hair and a wrinkled face, but with lively blue eyes grins at her. “I see that you clean up well.” Her face grows serious. “From what I hear, you do that uniform a lot of credit, girl.”

After just turning thirty years of age, not too many people get away with calling Tamsin ‘girl’. She supposes that she will allow it—this time. 

She shakes her head. “I’m not even sure what uniform it is,” she admits. 

The old woman rises, moves slowly over to her and runs her hands over the cloth—stopping at the two gold, oddly shaped stars on the shoulder. “It’s the uniform of a Captain of the Honorable Company of the Household of the Elector.” She looks down. “Apparently you are one of two of the newest incarnation,” nodding her head at Tome.

She holds out her hand, gripping Tamsin’s tightly. “I’m Sulen Gallamby. I’m here to pull the Covenant’s nuts out of the fire.” She smiles ruefully. “Like I always seem to do.”

+=+=+=+=+=

Nola Vorserrie takes a bite of her sandwich as she listens to the laughter from the other three young women. She grins as she puts the sandwich down, at Meglann listening and laughing at the snark flying between Dani and Ahsoka. 

Nola takes a sip of her wine, watching her foster-sister. Whatever tension between her, Bryne, and Ahsoka seems to have abated—at least for the moment. Dani had nearly returned to her old self, laughing and smiling almost with every word; every sentence. Ahsoka, while a bit more reserved, as she awaits the outcome of this whole mess, sent plenty of snark and innuendo to all of them, giving as good as she gets. 

For once, Nola had been content to listen; to not live up to her nickname from Covenant—‘Last Word’. She looks around the restaurant, filled with the lunchtime crowd, with plenty of laughter and noise to cover theirs, but not to overpower the strange quirk of the acoustics that allowed them to carry on their own conversation. 

Her eyes lock on one individual—a Fondorian woman dressed in the chic fashion of the Yard-classes, including a very stylish blaster, as well as the strange hybrid weapon of the People. The woman stares at their table, taking in all of them with dark, suspicious eyes. Nola looks away, taking a sip, now from her water glass, rather than her wine. She takes a deep breath, then deliberately looks back at the woman. The woman’s eyes track immediately back from their observation. Nola notices that Meglann is watching her intently. 

Nola very deliberately puts her water glass down, then moves her right hand to the back of her belt. She lifts the water glass again with her left hand. Meglann’s eyes widen, but she says nothing. Instead, she puts her soup spoon down and moves her own hand to her blaster. She starts to move her head to the right, as if to look behind her.

“Meglann, don’t turn around,” Ahsoka says. “Keep nodding as if we’re carrying on a conversation.”

Meglann nods. Nola glances at Ahsoka and Dani. Both strong hands have disappeared beneath the table. “One close to the entrance. Female. One blaster at least.”

Dani smiles. “One near the windows. Ugly human male. Looks like a slugthrower,” she says. 

“Got a couple who like it up close and personal. Both got vibroswords or knives. No energy or projectile weapons that I can see.”

Meglann takes a deep breath. Her eyes focus on the far corner, on the upper level. “I’m not sure—,” she starts. 

“It’s okay, dear,” Ahsoka says. “Tell us what you see. We’ll figure out what it is or who it is when we start shooting.”

“Guy up on the balcony. Keeps watching us, as well as out and away from us. Seems to have binocs.”

Dani grins. “That appears to be the overwatch. But for who? They’re all dressed alike, but several appear to be watching each other. Both human and Fondorian.”

“There’s a difference in dress,” Meglann says, “if you know what to look for.” She starts to rise and turn around. 

“Meglann, don’t—,” Ahsoka starts. 

Dani manages to pull the youngest down, as a blaster bolt passes where she had nearly stood. There is a cry heard, as the woman that Nola had first noticed is struck down. _Down, but not out_ , Nola thinks as the woman pulls her blaster. 

The four women hit the floor, drawing their weapons; or at least the three oldest do, followed on a second later by the youngest and newest. 

“Remember, no safety,” Ahsoka says to her. Meglann rolls her eyes.

Nola grins as she sees the Alderaani check the safety, moving it to the ‘off’ position.

The lunchtime crowds—those that aren’t shooting at each other—have discovered that getting the hell out of the restaurant is the better part of valor. She grits her teeth as she sees at least two fleeting patrons go down to the incessant fire.

Nola sees two sets of opponents, all dressed similarly. She notices a subtle difference in the shape of the badge at the shoulder between the two. 

“Who are these guys?” she asks.

“Our old buddies the Daos and the Aspeffs,” Meglann says. 

“Marvelous,” Nola replies. “Families are the best, aren’t they?”

Meglann doesn’t reply. At first, Nola’s heart stops, as she thinks she has been hit. Instead, Meglann’s vision is fixed on a crying child, wandering alone, as bolts fly over him. “Meglann, no!” she and Ahsoka start, almost simultaneously. 

Too late. Meglann is up and running over to the child. She scoops him up and jumps for an overturned table.

She manages to clear it just as a bolt strikes the table. “Goddammit, Meglann,” Nola hears from Ahsoka.

Dani opens fire in Meglann’s direction. Nola opens her mouth, then closes it, as she sees gunsels moving on Meglann’s new position. One falls immediately to a shot from the position, clutching his groin and screaming. She hears a giggle from someone behind her, just before a thug with dual vibroswords moves from the right. 

Nola sees an orange blur leap over her and Dani both, streaking towards the sword-wielder. Ahsoka strikes one sword arm with her shoulder, but overbalances as she does. The attacker manages to awkwardly bring down the sword in the other arm as Ahsoka backpedals. The tip intersects with her right bicep, causing her to drop the blaster in that hand.

She draws the other from under her right arm and discharges it in the killer’s face, just before she is buried under four or five other thugs. More thugs move on Meglann’s position. 

Nola looks at Dani. They nod at each other and stand, bringing their backs to each other and charging the ex-diner-owner’s area. Nola feels Dani’s back, the entire short trip, as she follows Nola, moving backwards.

She hears a cry as Dani stumbles. Nola keeps moving forward, leaping over Meglann’s cover. 

Meglann and the little boy are crouched, Meglann shielding him with her body. Her arms and neck are peppered with tiny gouts of blood from shrapnel and splinters. Nola stumbles as she feels a heavy blow on her calf. She goes down to her knees. 

She and Meglann look at each other. Their faces fall as three more thugs rush their positions. Their eyes widen as the three surround Meglann and turn outward in three directions, opening fire on any threats.

“That your family, Hammer?” Nola gasps between her teeth as she sees the small through and through puncture wound on her calf, spurting blood, rather than cauterized. She sees Meglann wince as she shifts up on her hips. “What?”

“Nothing,” Meglann says. 

“Doesn’t look like nothing,” Nola says. 

“Same here,” says another voice. Dani crawls into their cover, a black eye forming on her right—not the black that most people want to see. Nola grins at her skinned knuckles. 

Nola is saved from reply as a gunsel rushes their position, his blaster up and the finger closing. The muzzle doesn’t waver from Meglann’s head. The gunner has slipped through the cordon of new found friends. Another blur and then a scream intersects their vision and hearing as a figure interposes itself between Meglann and the bolt.

The body falls, as Meglann, Nola, and Dani fill the gunner with excess holes. 

There is silence. The three allies turn and slump at the body of the first young woman that Nola had noticed watching them. The sound of sirens can be heard growing closer. 

They realize that the attackers and defenders are exiting the room—leaving their wounded and dead behind. Except for the last young woman on the ground. Meglann’s three defenders take her body in their arms and quickly join the exodus.

Three figures, two of them huge males, the other smaller, but no less threatening; slide up to them, as Dani and Meglann help Nola up. They turn as another figure walks up behind them. 

Ahsoka drops the thug she is holding, to join his four other fellows unconscious around her. Nola rolls her eyes as she sees that aside from the original blade wound, only an oozing nose seems to trouble her. 

The little boy runs over to a crying woman, who pulls him close, as a male looks thunderously at them. The male drags the child and woman away. The little boy manages to give an irrepressible grin to Meglann before he is propelled away.

Ahsoka walks up and hugs the three to her. She smiles at Meglann. “You did good, sweetie. I think you scared the shit out of Nola, but you did good.”

Nola snorts. “Don’t think I’m the only one.” She takes all of them in. “What the hell was that? Were they attacking and defending Meg?”

“Looks like that to me,” Dani says. She looks down at the nearest body. “Were your family members the ones defending you?”

Meglann crouches down, wincing. She looks at the badge on the shoulder. “Goddammit,” she says. She looks up at them. “My family was trying to kill me. The Aspeffs were protecting me.”

Ahsoka crouches down, touching her shoulder. “Okay. We’ll figure this out. I’m thinking now that they know who you are.”

Nola sees Meglann close her eyes, then nod. Ahsoka turns to Drop. “We need to get out of here. Drop, if our heroine here leaves the ship, you’ll stick to her ass like glue.”

Nola sees Meglann’s face flush red. “I’m not going to be babysat, _dear_ ,” she spits out. 

Ahsoka holds her hand up. “Nope. I know you can take care of yourself.” Her smile grows warmer. “I just saw you risk your life for someone else—someone you didn’t even know. But somebody is trying to harm you. I won’t let that happen.” The smile turns devilish. “Especially since you managed to get yourself shot in the ass.”

Meglann looks sheepish at the others’ laughter. 

“Did you think we wouldn’t notice the blood oozing out?” Nola asks.

“I—,” Meglann starts.

“Several of us pay a lot of attention to that ass,” Dani says.

“Yeah. Feels like it has a chunk missing.” She curses under her breath. “It’s the second slugthrower wound I’ve gotten.”

“At least now, you’ll have a matching scar with Bryne,” Ahsoka says.

“I hate to cut this discussion of Ensign Florlin’s ass short, but unless we want to continue the conversation in the local jail, we need to get the hell out of here,” Drop says. Without another word, he shoulders Meglann on one side and Nola on the other.

As they hobble out of the restaurant, Nola sees Ahsoka worrying her lip with a sharp incisor, her blue eyes locked on Meglann.

+=+=+=+=+=

Bryne comes awake from his doze. On a whim, he opens his Force-sense, hoping, as always, that it will connect. He smiles as umber flashes in his mind, then transitions to a slightly brighter orange. A bright azure shows at the edges. _Maybe I don’t need a Force-sense when I’m near her_ , he thinks.

He grins as the hatch opens. The grin fades as he sees Ahsoka, but quickly returns. He keeps the grin fixed as his eyes move over the still-oozing knife wound on her bicep. The dark blood is matched under her nose, but without an apparent fracture. The lips under the blood break into a warm smile—something he hasn’t seen in days.

“You should see the other guys and gals,” she says. 

“I can only imagine. I’m assuming that the sirens I heard were because of you?”

“Well, I can’t claim all of the credit. Dani, Meglann, Nola, and I were just trying to enjoy a quiet lunch, when we were accosted.”

“Uh-huh,” he says skeptically. “I’m sure that none of your lunch dates did any accosting of their own?”

She has the manners to at least look somewhat sheepish. “You might think that, but I couldn’t possibly comment.” The look transitions back to a grin. “No, not this time. We supposedly got in the middle of a dynastic dispute between Dao and Aspeff crews.”

“Supposedly?”

“Yeah. At least one side was showing a great deal of interest in our Ensign. The kind of interest that could be fatal.”

“She okay?”

“Yeah. No more banged up than the rest of us.” Ahsoka’s expression grows warm. “She did well. I think that you could be proud of her.” She looks away. “I certainly am,” she whispers. “Drop will probably stay with her when she’s off ship. She’s resentful of it, but I made it clear. She’s going to visit the Aspeffs.” Her expression shifts to one of puzzlement. “It appeared that some of the Aspeff crew were actively defending her. One even took a bolt for her.”

They are both silent as they contemplate the meaning of this.

She moves over to the bed. Her hands go to the buckle of the weapons belt, shifting it to the nightstand next to his. She pulls her shawl-scarf—a gift from Dani, and then her familiar leather flight jacket off. He matches her Smirk at the undershirt—a tanktop that proclaims the virtues of a Mandalorian death-metal band (as well as tour-dates from before the birth of the particular owner of the garment—that same newly-minted Ensign). He eyes the tightness of the shirt appreciatively; her frame is a bit taller and more muscular than Meglann’s. 

She sees his gaze, takes the time to sit on the bed and pull her boots and socks off. He grins as she makes sure that each movement is slow and deliberate, including a few unnecessary stretches here and there. His breath stops as he thinks of how she has grown. Even with the increased musculature—the product of her species’ genetic predisposition for hunting and slightly higher gravity, she still gives off that air of delicate power that she always had. He grins. _Not just physical growth._

He starts as she realizes she has stood and pulled her trousers down. He lifts the covers, allowing her to slide in. He pulls a tissue from the nightstand, blotting the now drying blood from under her nose. 

She moves her head to his chest, her hand sliding under his shirt, cool against his heart.

He closes his eyes as he thinks of their journey. From the destruction of their way of life, to the reunion on an Alderaani street, to the understanding that they would at least back each other in this little fight. He feels the lance in his heart at their stolen moments like this. Mostly spent grasping each other’s bodies, but with quiet moments of laughter, warmth, and just existing.

He thinks of her sense of duty—a duty to the ideals of the Jedi, if not to the Code that had been the Order’s downfall. A sense of duty that had led her to abandon the Jedi after broken trust had forced her hand. 

He smiles. _Much stronger than I am. I stuck with it too long, until just before the end_. The smile fades as he thinks of what he is contemplating. A choice, to either abandoning her fight, or abandoning his world and his duty.

He wonders what she would think of either path. He realizes that while he has his loyalty to his home and family, his heart might belong to her. To their shared lives—the Hunt, the Jedi, and now this embryonic insurgency.

He realizes that her powerful blue eyes, lying against his chest are locked on his. He starts to speak. She reaches up and places her finger over his lips. “Whatever choice you make, Bait, won’t change my feelings for you. I’ll be just as proud of you if you choose to go through with this marriage thing, as if you took the others and ran to me. It’s part of who and what you are.” She looks down. “Sometimes you have to leave, to fight for what you love,” she finishes. 

She moves her lips to his, allowing each to breathe for the other. When they break away, he grins against her mouth. “How’d you get so wise?” he asks.

She laughs. “It isn’t all smirking and smartass. I’ve had good teachers about duty and compassion. Anakin, Obi-Wan, Plo, Ti. In their own ways, they helped shape me.” She looks down. “Sometimes I had to learn from their mistakes.” Her face crumples as the pain and memory overwhelm her. She shakes her head, allowing the hurt to dissipate—mostly. She smiles warmly. “Might’ve picked up a little bit from a smartassed Corellian hunt-brother and youngling clan-master, one that everybody seems to discount as doing most of his thinking with a small head. A tiny bit.”

“Probably have to cut through a lot more bullshit and mistakes with that one,” Bryne replies.

“You know it,” she replies. 

He reaches down and finds his favorite spot to kiss her, ignoring the coppery taste of the remnants of blood as his lips touch the tip of her nose.

Bryne Covenant, once a knight in the great Jedi Order, watches as Ahsoka Tano’s eyelids grow heavy, as her breathing becomes more regular. 

In spite of her words, he is no closer to a decision of the path to take.

_Is it as simple as Corellia or her?_


	10. Don’t Cry for Me, Corellia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Family again. The Covenant and his sidekick. Sneaking around on a city-planet.

Meglann Florlin nods at the young human woman who ushers her into the small, airy solarium. Her eyes narrow as she recognizes one of the defenders from earlier in the day. Her ‘upper rear thigh’ twinges as she looks at the gun in the leather belt—just like most of the members of the Yard-class. She is about to say something when she sees the woman’s red-rimmed eyes, the tear tracks under them. She reaches out to touch her escort’s arm, but pulls back at the sharp look from her. Meglann merely nods. The young woman turns away, after giving Drop an even harder look. Drop merely shakes his head and turns to follow her. 

“Please, young man. Join us for tea.” Yosta Aspeff rises and hobbles over to Meglann. She reaches over and takes Meglann’s hand in hers. Yosta’s dark eyes stare searchingly at at her.

“How’s the ass?” Yosta asks directly.

Meglann manages to keep from blushing. She turns and stares balefully at Drop, whose snicker is not exactly subtle. She turns to the Aspeff and smiles. “It’s fine. A bit of a bacta injection and I can almost sit.” Her smile fades as she remembers the staring eyes of the young woman who had taken a bolt for her.

Yosta brings her hand up and places it under Meglann’s chin, lifting her eyes up. Meglann notices two things about the older woman. The Comptroller is not as old as she had assumed—only in her fifties. Her body is still fit; the arms under the shapeless work clothes giving a feeling of someone who is no stranger to physical work and rigorous exercise. Yosta’s hair is lose about her shoulders now, showing just a hint of her bare skull; where it had been piled in an almost matronly fashion—a style that, when combined with the cane and limp, provides her with the cover of a harmless old woman—a camouflage as successful as if she was wearing a holo-masker. 

The other thing that Meglann notices is that Yosta wears no blaster or slugthrower at her waist.

Meglann starts as she realizes that woman has turned her around. “Please. Show me.” 

Drop’s eyebrows climb to his hairline. Yosta laughs. “Don’t worry, soldier. You can turn around. I won’t harm your charge. She’s proven herself a very capable fighter.”

Drop grins at Meglann. “I’ve no fear of that, milady,” he says, his tone dry. “I’m sure she already has had somebody kiss her booboo. Just didn’t think it would happen at afternoon tea.”

Meglann feels her face grow hot. She is treated to Drop’s own blush at Yosta’s next words. “Would you have any booboos for me to kiss, soldier?”

Meglann giggles as Drop turns around. She undoes her belt buckle and lowers her trousers. She feels the woman’s hands pull the bactapad away.

“It’s not too bad. I’ve been shot there a few times. Not,” she says with a sharp look at Meglann’s raised eyebrows, “from running away. Just trusting people I shouldn’t have.” She touches the healing wound. Strangely, her hands cool and soothe. “We have a particular sort of therapy. A hot bath infused with bacta and with analgesics. I know it well,” she says, patting her own hip.” Meglann notices that she flinches slightly as she does.

“From the angle, I think I know who shot you,” Yosta says. “He won’t be shooting anyone again,” she adds, a dark timbre in her voice. 

Meglann turns back around as she pulls her trousers up and buckles the belt. “You were there?”

Yosta smiles. “Yep. I was on the balcony.”

“You were the overwatch?” Drop asks as he turns around.

“Yes, dear soldier. I was. I wanted to make sure that Meglann was safe.” 

She touches the younger woman’s cheek. “For your father’s sake.”

+=+=+=+=+=

A Dragon watches Corel’s light rise over Coronet City. Draq’ Bel Iblis gives the appearance of his namesake at rest, eyeing his world through hooded eyes. He rolls those piercing eyes at the visual. _At least I don’t flick my tongue out every minute or so, to complete the picture_ , he thinks ruefully. _Sometimes you can go too far cultivating that damned nickname and its image._

As he often does, his mind travels to his father and mother. He has no memory of his mother, only a battered piece of holoflimsi, showing that his blue eyes and brown hair, now graying, had been a gift from her. He wonders if that was all that he had received from her. His jaw tightens as he thinks of his father, Levon Iblis.

 _I probably got my work ethic and integrity from her_ , the tiny voice in her mind says. _Certainly not from that bastard._

His eyes close in remembered hurt and pain as he remembers the day that he was left at the first orphanage by his mother’s father and mother—both too old and too poor to look after a pre-adolescent. A pre-adolescent who brought out the painful memory of their daughter, dead a few days. A memory abandoned by his father so that he could go out among the stars, with what could charitably be called a wandering spirit. 

_A complete lack of fucking responsibility would be a more apt description_ , he thinks. Draq’ feels the grin flow over his features as he remembers his time at the House—of being offered an opportunity to serve his world, because of a certain aptitude he had shown, in addition to his drive and high intelligence. An aptitude for chaos, as the House Director had said with a grin. Something his world would have need of, just as much as his business sense.

An aptitude that had led him to the pinnacle of Corellian power, of a galactic reputation for that chaos, but just as much for being able to find peaceful solutions in his dealmaking.

His attention is drawn by a belch of thick black smoke from the newest Imperial monstrosity. He looks down as he thinks of his failures—the failure to combat the Empire’s lust for ships and powers. Failure that was once again allowing the Corellian sky—recovering from decades and centuries of industry after the Great Shift, to be marked by the dark smog that might spell doom for his people and his world’s place in the galaxy. He smiles as he thinks of the architect of the Great Shift of all industry. A woman who had taught him more about life and the universe than anyone. Ina Raylan-Blackthorn, the last person to bear the title of Elector of Corellia—the voice of the worlds and their people. The mother of his beloved wife, Laira.

The grandmother of the current Covenant. The woman whose family had borne the Covenant Chain for centuries, who had found herself the guarantor of the people’s liberties after the untimely death of her husband; her son too young to take the title.

A sound approximating a mechanical cough cuts through his thoughts. OW-90, his officious administrative droid is signaling him. The door to the chamber behind him opens. He allows the Dragon look to flow over his face as he turns to enter the room from the balcony. 

Time to push back against the Empire. Time to take one more step to clear the skies of his world.

“So. I guess that you’re staring at the world, wondering how you’re going to get yourself out of this mess. Maybe you might want to think about the people involved, instead of your own ego,” says a voice that is definitely not Niner’s.

He stops short just in front of the desk. He realizes that three people have entered his domain. Three women of graduated ages, all currently bent or broken in some form.

Draq’ smiles at them all. “Well, I guess that’s why I have you here, Sulen. You’ve been busting my balls for the last thirty years or so.” He walks over to them. The youngest, the Captain of one of his ships, smirks as she allows the other two, who had been leaning on her, to squeeze her hands as they start to move away.

Sulen Gallamby rolls her eyes. “Apparently I haven’t been doing a good enough job of it,” she says. Her blue eyes lock with his. “This young twit,” she gestures at Tamsin, “who seems to have as high opinion of herself as you do of yourself, has found some interesting little tidbits about your two ingrates.”

Draq’ turns his gaze on Tamsin. She manages to not quake in her boots, as she pulls Sulen and Shyla Merricope over to the couch. He grins at both her attitude and her care for the other two—in spite of her own injuries. He allows his grin to turn more charming.

Tamsin narrows her eyes, then deliberately moves her gaze down to his middle, then slowly back up, a raised eyebrow and a slight quirk of the lips her only expression. Both Sulen and Shyla giggle at his expression. Sulen looks over at Tamsin. “That’s it, dear. Make him think he’s not in control.” She reaches over and touches the pilot’s cheek. “Not bad. If I were a few decades younger—,” she starts.

“If you were a few decades younger, “ Draq’ says, “she wouldn’t be able to handle you. Now, if we’re finished with the group foreplay, could we get on with it?”

Shyla speaks up from the other side of Tamsin. “Draq’ why did you pick these two for the Council?”

Draq’ sits across from them, taking his time to answer, as if gathering himself. “We actually go a ways back. To University. We were the three Diktat’s Fellows for the graduate program at Bar’leth.” He ignores the three sets of widened eyes.

“Slan and I are the same age. Kath is a few years younger.” He grins. “She’s probably the smartest of us all. Her father owned several sports teams that couldn’t do shit. She sold’em all off but the boloball team—turned them into champions.” He tries to keep the wistful look off of his face.

Sulen’s expression tells him that he has failed. She smiles encouragingly. 

He busies himself pouring them all cups of caf from the service. After he finishes, he continues. “Slan isn’t much different from what he is now. An outworlder with a modicum of smarts, a huge chip on his shoulder, and some family money made in agribusiness.” He looks down. “I’m responsible for getting him tossed out of the University. He was selling exam answers. I turned him in.”

He shakes his head at the memories. “In answer to your question, I put them both on the Council for different reasons. Slan, we needed someone from the outer Brothers. Plus, those ‘modicum of smarts’ allow me to control him a bit.” He grins. “I’ve got a smidge more smarts than he does.”

“What about Kath?” Tamsin asks. 

“Kath and I have a more complicated history,” he says. 

Tamsin rolls her eyes, managing to take both of the other women in with the maneuver. “Let me guess, a _horizontal_ one.”

Draq’ stares at her, as if debating whether to excuse her impertinence or unleash fire. Tamsin apparently doesn’t care which, as she stares at him.

“So let me get this straight,” Sulen says, breaking the impasse. “You put two people on the Council—the Council that has a great amount of say in the destiny of Corellia’s Elder Family—who might have cause to want to make you look like a fool?”

“Well, when you say it like that, it does sound stupid,” he says. He allows that sentence to hang there for a moment. He hears Shyla laugh.

“Draq’ Bel Iblis has never done anything to make himself look stupid,” she says. “He’s always got a way out.”

Draq’ merely smiles. “So what have you found, Tamsin?” he asks. 

“I found that your little Article thingy allows for anyone who called for it to make a substantial amount of money on the whole thing. Especially if there are multiple interests?”

“The entry fees.” Sulen says.

Draq’s eyes narrow. “So both Kath and Slan are making money on this whole thing? I knew that there could be bidding, but no profit. I thought it went into the treasury.”

Sulen shakes her head. “No. Sixty percent does. Forty percent can go to the proposing entities. Apparently, from what the dear Captain has found—along with another of your pets—is that Fells and Morn are splitting twenty percent of it.”

“And the other twenty?” Draq’ asks. 

“Don’t know. Ano’s still working on it,” Shyla says.

Draq’s eyes track downward. Shyla stands painfully and walks over to his chair. She reaches out and raises his chin. “There’s some good news. Kath has dumped her percentages into the treasury. The Donative. I don’t think money was her motivation.”

“I think that I know what hers is,” Sulen says, taking them all in with her intense gaze. “A friend of your family, hell, she’s married into your family, asked me to get involved.”

“Ala,” Draq’ says with a wistful smile. “The Electarine-Mother.”

“Yes. When I was on Serreno, I was her godmother. Knew her grandmother well. We were students together. She reached out to me when Jamelyn became the Elector-Presumptive. Or when you were hamfistedly going about it, Dragon. I did some behind-the-scenes work.”

Draq’ nods. “So you were the one who put the codicil in there that gave her ten years to choose. The one that gave Bryne more time.”

Sulen grins. “Yeah. I did. All it took was somebody who knew the Concordat backwards and forwards.

“I guess I’m your back up plan, old man,” she says, a wide grin splitting her face. 

The room is silent as the two titans gaze at one another. Sulen finally rolls her eyes and breaks the staring contest. “I once saved your brother-in-law’s happiness,” she says. “The result of that is on Fondor, wondering what his future is.” She looks down, her eyes tearing slightly. “My newfound granddaughter is worried about him, as well. Along with someone else, who she won’t name.”

Draq’ remains silent, then looks at Shyla. She nods at him.

“Sulen Gallamby, as head of the Electoral Council, I hereby appoint you the Archivist of the Council. I charge you with resolving the Betrothal Issue.”

Sulen stands, with Tamsin’s help. She bows. “I accept your charge,” she says quietly. A look that comes very close to approximating that of a Dragon, closer than anyone even in his own family, flows across her lined face. “I’ve already solved it. For Bryne. For Meglann. For Jamelyn. For those unnamed others.” She bows her head. “For Corellia.

“It helps that Slan only has a modicum of intelligence. If that had included reading High Corellian, we’d be in deep shit.”

+=+=+=+=+=

Meglann watches with amusement as Drop balances the tiny teacup, a plate with delicate pastries, and the fact that he fills a fragile chair to overflowing. The look that he returns promises slow and painful retribution in the dojo. She blows him a kiss. His thunderous expression turns into a broad grin.

She turns back to Yosta, who watches their by-play with amusement. “I see a great deal of your father in you, dear. He had a way with his comrades, with those who worked for him, as well. He always made them feel as if they worked with him, rather than for him.”

“Could be I’ve never had too many people work for me,” Meglann replies. She forces the pain down as the image of a grumpy Nikto cook flies to the front of her memory. She shakes her head, willing the image away. “Tell me about him. How did you know him?”

“We grew up together. Our families were closer, then—we were in school together in the days before his father, Erich, became Yardmaster.” Her face darkens with pain. “Before that was all destroyed,” she whispers. 

Meglann reaches over and takes her hand, squeezing it gently. Yosta smiles. “I didn’t know your mother, dear. He was long gone from here, in the Judicials, by that time. But I can see Therion’s compassion in you. I know,” she says to Meglann’s raised eyebrow, “the picture you have of him is probably a hard-drinking typical pilot—one that your mother tamed. That’s just one part of him. He was less of a hell-raiser before—.” She trails off.

“What happened?” Meglann asks. “Why did he leave Fondor?”

“His father became Yardmaster. Erich Dao was a controlling, hard, grasping son of a bitch. He wanted more control over the joint ownership for the Dao.”

She pauses, taking a sip of her tea. “He had my father framed for ship-stealing. A serious offense among the Families. I watched as my father—the man who use to whirl me around his head and laugh with me—strangle his life out at the end of a lifting cable on a gantry.”

Meglann breathes in. “Was my father part of that—?” she starts, fearing the answer. 

Yosta smiles. “No. He wasn’t. I’m sure that’s what finally drove him away—his mother’s influence, I think. He and Erich had a tremendous argument after. I think it was coming close to a duel. Erich managed to consolidate more of the holdings. My family was reduced to the administrative role of Comptroller on the Board—we just managed to hold on to that.” She looks down. ”The fact that my father was destroyed as a ship-thief helped them take us out of the succession when Therion did leave.” 

She grins. “That’s where you come into the picture. Therion left, managed to get his mother’s signature on the application to the Academy. He never looked back.”

“What do you mean? Where I came into the picture?” Meglann asks, her eyes narrowing.

“You’re his daughter, Ensign,” Drop says quietly. 

Yosta smiles gratefully at him. “You’re the direct descendent of the Yardmaster, love,” she says. “Cairlin is the son of Erich’s niece, from his younger sister. You’ve more claim than he does, even though Therion renounced his claims.”

Meglann sits back in her chair. Drop stands and walks over to her. He pulls a small bottle from some inner pocket, opens it. Meglann absently takes a sip, coughs, then passes it to Yosta.

“You have good taste in whisky, dear Soldier,” she says, a look of satisfaction on her face. 

“Comes from listening to Corellians go on and on about it most of my life.”

“Is that why the Dao were trying to kill me?” Meglann blurts out. 

“Most assuredly, dear. Yelena is Cairlin’s heir. She was adopted and named by his mother. We recognize adoption, but blood ties are stronger. Without an heir, the Aspeff would take over. I’ve managed to wrest much more control back—we’re at about fifty-five—forty-five, now.” Her eyes grow wistful. “We’ve managed to protect Yelena—I think Cairlin would arrange an accident for her if he had his way—she’s been defiant since she could think.”

“Why’re you protecting her, Yosta?” Meglann asks nonchalantly.

Yosta starts at the suggestion, then relaxes. She smiles at Meglann. “Very sharp. Because we’re not Erich and Cairlin. We value more than money and power. Plus, she’s family.”

Meglann’s eyebrow once again gets a workout at the casual admission.

Yosta takes another sip of whisky. “She’s my granddaughter. My son’s child.” Her face darkens with grief. “He died in a racing accident on Chandrila. I think Erich might’ve arranged an accident for the mother, as well. My son left me a letter with all of this. I confirmed it with a surreptitious genetic test.”

Meglann stands up. Drop rises as well. “With all due respect, Comptroller,” she says icily, “I don’t give a damn about your family issues. I only care about my family. I have other worlds. This isn’t mine.”

Yosta nods. “I understand. I think that your father felt the same way. But I will warn you. Your Covenant mustn’t marry, either Cairlin, or Yelena. If he marries Cairlin, then he’ll have a legal partner that he can adopt an heir with. If he is betrothed to Yelena; they will eventually have children. They’ll both meet with unfortunate accidents and he’ll have his heir. Your world will never see its Covenant-heir.”

Meglann manages to keep her anger from her face. “Good to know. But I’m sure you have something to gain from this as well. I haven’t heard too much of your story that doesn’t entail control and power.” She looks hard at the older woman. “Greed.”

Yosta merely smiles, attempts to rise. Drop walks over to her, lends her arm. He looks challengingly back at Meglann.

“You’re right, Meglann. I do gain something. I reclaim the honor of two ancient families; honor that has been lost.”

Meglann cocks her head, looks at Drop. “You mean—?” she starts.

“Yes. I’m a Dao as well. Not even Cairlin knows this. My mother was Erich’s other blood sister—the older one. She was cast out when she married an Aspeff; before the Unification of the two Families.”

“You’re Cairlin’s aunt?”

“Yep. Yelena is his niece or something. I sometimes need a wall chart to figure it all out, myself.”

“I know the goddamned feeling,” Meglann and Drop both say in unison.

Yosta pulls a small datachip from her shirt. “Here. This is what you came for, I’m sure. Your fixer, Ms. Vorserrie, has managed to prove legal ownership to me. I think that may be why she’s at the dinner tonight. My sense is that Cairlin won’t accept the proof.”

“So, what do we do?” Meglann asks.

“That’s the location of the lead ship in Cairlin’s possession—one of the three. I suggest you be there after dark. There are partial codes to get the launch keys for all three from the office there. It was all that I could get. It’s up to you and yours to figure out how to get all three. We’ll transfer the one we have to your possession.”

Yosta hobbles over and pulls both of them into a tight embrace. “Go with the Stars, Meglann Florlin. You and your families.” She kisses Meglann’s cheek, then to his surprise, plants a second kiss on Drop’s lips. 

She slaps them both on the ass, taking care to avoid the wounded side on one. “Do your worst. I think that you’ll both be able to save the day. For all of us.”

As she moves out into the corridor, she turns and looks at Yosta. The older woman seems to stand taller, at least to Meglann’s eyes. Yosta holds her hand up in farewell.

“So, what’re you going to do, Hammer?” Drop asks. 

“I’m going to get to this dock, somehow. You go back to the ship. Something tells me we’ll have to make a fast getaway.”

“Meglann, you don’t have to do this alone,” he says.

“I’m not. There was one other not invited to the Covenant’s dinner. If you can, get a message to Nola, to have Bryne distract Cairlin.”

“Well, at least he’s good for something,” he says with a smirk.

“Yeah. Several somethings,” she replies with her own smirk. Her expression softens. 

Drop pulls her into his arms. “It’ll be alright. We survived a war. I think we can survive arranged marriages as well.”

+=+=+=+=+=

 

Dani takes a deep breath as she sees Bryne and Phygus saunter into the foyer of the Dao Mainyard dining area. Both of them hold neutral expressions, which raises her suspicions.

Both of the ‘brothers’ appear to be on their best behavior, but she knows better than to trust this image. She looks at the larger one. He is clad in his usual business suit; the thigh-length gray coat hanging correctly, the pure white undertunic closed to his throat. The Covenant Chain is back on the ship, a miniature tri-colored House pin on his lapel the only indication of Corellia. His eyes lock with hers, appraising her as well. His eyes crinkle with a smile. 

She takes the moment to glance in the mirror. A dark blue dress hugs her curves; the long sleeves concealing several bladed weapons. She is sure that she is not the only one armed. She feels the comforting weight of the hideout blaster on her thigh. She is sure that even Phygus has a smaller version of his expensive and ever-present—highly illegal datapad—his weapon of choice, concealed on his body.

Dani glances down at the Attendant. Phygus is dressed in a similar fashion as Bryne, but in a dark blue suit with light blue undertunic. She manages to stifle the eyeroll as she sees that his brown hair finally lies flat. It had taken a quarter hour and a double-handful of product to tame the cowlick over his forehead. That and threats from Nola, Bryne, and Dani. 

She notices that there is something strange about Phygus’s mouth as he smiles, closed mouth. Her eyes narrow as she looks up at the younger, but larger sibling-of-choice. Their mouths seem to bulge a bit. As one the sources of the bulges are revealed.

Both men grin broadly. She grits her teeth.

Dani rubs the furrowed space between her sculpted eyebrows. Both ex-Jedi reveal their matching large buckteeth, with several missing examples. She shakes her head, trying not to smile, as she opens her small purse and pulls two tissues. 

Her charges obediently drop the novelty teeth into the paper. She covers them and drops the offending pranks into the purse. Her eyes tear as she looks at both of them.

Dani takes a deep breath. “I’m probably going to regret ever saying this and I’ll deny it, if you bring it up, but I love both of you, so much.”

Both men fall silent. Two men who usually have no problem saying anything look down at their feet. 

They are saved by the door opening behind them. Their eyes widen slightly, then smiles fade.

Yelena Dao stands in the door. Her dark, almost black eyes take them in. She is clad in a burgundy dress, her shoulders and arms bare. Dani’s eyes fall on the leather dress belt, an ornate example of the Fondorian hybrid blade/fusioncutter in a cross-draw rig on her left side. A bright silver wrap, matching the hair that had earlier flopped over her forehead, now completely shorn.

“My brother’s ready for you,” she says flatly. Without another word, she turns on her heels and walks back into the room.

Dani feels Bryne’s hand on her bare back, near the lightsaber scar. Phygus grasps hers briefly before they follow the young woman.

+=+=+=+=+=

Ahsoka Tano watches the entrance to the auxiliary dock in a tucked-away corner of the Dao controlled section of the Yard. Her eyes narrow at the sheltered covering, just offset from the main platform. A covering just large enough for a Clone Wars era _Nebulon-B_ escort frigate.

She grins as she sees a figure moving in the shadows. She shakes her head, nearly breaking out into laughter. Her heart seizes as she realizes that Meglann has unsheathed one of the batons resting on her back, as she approaches the two guards. 

Ahsoka feels her teeth grinding. _Do you think that you could be more of an eager shiny, dear? So damned eager to prove yourself?_ she thinks. Her eyes flash to a memory of a blond Captain looking down at her on a crystalline world, looking skeptically at her suggestions on how to do his job.

She spies an overhang over the guards. She looks around, then gathers herself. In a split second, she is standing over the entrance area. Her eyes widen as she realizes that one of the guards is on the ground.

The other has managed to seize Meglann’s wrists and twist the baton to where it is angled away from his head. Fortunately, both of his hands are encumbered, so he can’t grab a blaster or call for help. 

The fact that Meglann has stomped on his ankle also hinders him. 

Another quick jump, a hand on his cheek with a touch of the Force and he is on the ground at Meglann’s feet. Ahsoka sees the brief glimpse of fear in Meglann’s eyes at her sudden appearance. To the younger woman’s credit, the fear disappears, replaced by a calm appraisal.

“Took you long enough,” Meglann says. 

Ahsoka rolls her eyes. She runs her fingers along Meglann’s cheek, looks at the residue of the blackout makeup on the tips. 

“Kinda overdid it on the makeup, sweetie,” Ahsoka says dryly. “It’s barely dark.”

Meglann’s dark eyes, barely visible in the camouflage, flash for a moment, then look down ruefully. “Blame your giant. He’s the one that said that I needed all of this shit. His spawn was enjoying herself immensely, slathering it all over my face.”

Ahsoka looks her up and down. Her commando is dressed in what looks suspiciously like the bodysuit for clone armor, adjusted for her size. A dark watchcap tames her curls. 

“Did you actually have a plan to deal with the guards, other than charge in and bash them over the head?”

“Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time. Drop said that someone named Rex told him over an ale that you used to do it all the time.”

Ahsoka looks away for a moment at the name. “Never mind. Your cryptic message said you had a way to get into the room where the launch keys are held?”

“Partial codes. I thought that you and your hoodoo might be good for something other than tickling my—,”

“Okay. I get the picture. We just have to make sure that we disable any cameras. I’m trying to keep a low profile as far as showing everything. It’s why I use it mostly these days for that.”

“Touchstone gave me something that might work on any sensors that we find.”

Ahsoka makes a _lead on_ gesture. As she follows Meglann, she happens to glance over to their left. Her eyes fall on an odd sight. A gantry crane with a crossbar suspended above the edge of the high platform. Three lifting cables blow in the breeze from the crossbar.

All with what appear to be rope nooses attached to the hooks.


	11. Fondor Needs No Marriage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rejection. A sociopath needs no emotions. Stealing. A reckoning.

Nola Vorserrie takes a deep breath and walks into the dining room. The smell of caf and brandy tells her that she has made it just in time for dessert. She smiles to herself as attention in the room turns towards her. 

The first faces that she sees are that of Dani and Phygus, both with their own versions of smirks on their lips. Dani’s version widens into a warm smile. Phygus’s remains in a devilish smirk. 

Bryne’s face is expressionless, but his eyes crinkle in a subtle version of his crooked smile. One eyelid drops in a wink. _Maybe I shouldn’t have borrowed business attire from the Zeltrons._

She looks at herself in the mirror over the large fireplce. The tight bodice of medium blue, trimmed with silver leaf at the top, leaves her midriff and collarbones bare. A long skirt with the same leaf at the bottom, a third of the way up, covers her long legs. She is glad that Kanyly na’Torstan’ii is nearly her equal in height.

A light gray blazer that drapes loosely below her hips completes the look. A garment that usually comes down to the knees of the actual owner; the older foster-sister smiling at her with pride. The coat is enough to conceal the holstered Handmaiden blaster at the base of her spine, bound up in the ties of the skirt. She had practiced the quick draw several times in her room.

Nola turns her gaze to the two representatives of the Dao family at the table. She shivers slightly at the predatory gaze of Cairlin Dao. The Yardmaster is clad in the mess-dress uniform of an Imperial naval officer, a Commander’s insignia on the sleeves inset into the gold braid of the black waist-length jacket. His brown eyes are centered around her chest, before moving downward. She snatches a brief glance at Dani, whose eyes track to Cairlin and narrow in anger, her skin flashing an even deeper crimson.

Nola locks her gaze on the Dao’s younger sister. She grins as she sees the young woman’s expression. Her eyes flash with disgust as she watches her brother stare at Nola. He jerks up, as if struck, then returns her look. Nola smirks as she sees Yelena Dao’s booted foot draw back again. 

Cairlin rises. He bows stiffly to Nola. “Good evening, Ms. Vorserrie. Mr. Covenant tells me that you have been researching the so-called titles of these vessels that he claims belongs to CEC, in a private contract with Kuat.” He walks over and draws a chair for her. 

As she sits, he allows his hands to linger on her neck, above her blazer. She sees Bryne and Dani sit up, as if to rise. She gives them a quick shake of her head. 

As Cairlin returns to his chair, she gazes at him directly. “Yes. We’ve found that all of the titles on the _Nebulon-Bs_ are clear, with direct transfer from the two entities. You and your Yard are in possession of stolen property at best, and at worst have pirated them from us.”

Cairlin remains silent. In fact, the entire room has grown silent—a leaden silence.

“That’s good to know,” he says, with no inflection in his thickly accented voice. Nola is secretly relieved that he no longer appears to be interested in her. _Probably too uppity for him now_ , she thinks. 

He nonetheless lifts a snifter and pours her a brandy. “We of course are aware of their ownership status.” A death’s head expression appears on his handsome features under the drooping mustache. He runs his hand over his shaven head. “We’re also aware than no one has paid any of the required Imperial taxes on the sales and transfers of these ships, as well as on several others that we have not as yet located.” He takes a sip of his own drink, a puff of his expensive cigar. He looks at the burning end, as if trying to find answers. “As a serving Imperial procurement officer, even one who is on medical leave, I cannot let such an egregious violation of Imperial code pass. I’ve impounded that frigate. In fact, we fought off an attack from a CR-90 that seemed determine to take it from us.”

She feels Dani’s resonance spike with anger. She manages to reach under the table and place her hand on Dani’s thigh. The warm skin helps calm her own anger. She looks over at Phygus and Bryne. Knowing them as she does, she recognizes the sign of their own anger. Anger at injuries and loss inflicted on their own.

Cairlin continues to contemplate the embers. Nola is sorely tempted to reach over and shove the end of the cigar into his eye. She notices a slight smile play under his mustache. She isn’t sure that it is any better than the threatening look. “I could, however, in the interest of good relations with my future in-laws, or,” he gives Covenant a hooded look, “bond-partner, forego informing Imperial authorities.”

“At what cost?” the future groom asks, coldly.

“For a nice dowry, or bride-price, or whatever you want to call it. Say about ten thousand for any ship that we might find.”

“I would probably call it a bribe, Commander,” Bryne says, looking pointedly at the Imperial cog on the collars of the dress coat.

“You might, but the alternative to not showing respect to Fondor in this Betrothal process might be a fatal error for your world. Your uncle’s recalcitrance in accommodating the Empire’s need for ships has not gone unnoticed. Fondor could be the future, where Corellia is the past.”

He looks at Nola, then at Phygus. “Why don’t your servants go back to your ships and do whatever it is that servants do.” He moves his gaze to Dani. “Perhaps Ms. Faygan would meet with her people, who I think are enjoying some of our museums on private tours.” Cairlin reaches out and takes Bryne’s hand in his. “Perhaps we might adjourn to my quarters, your Eminence. We could possibly discuss this further.”

Nola’s anger boils over as she rises. She sees Bryne’s glance take in all three of them, as well as a glance at his comm. He nods slightly. Nola calms, then looks at Dani. She turns to walk out with Phygus, just as she sees Dani give Bryne a brief, but lingering kiss. She grins to herself before returning the thunderous look to her face. 

“So what’s the plan, No-no?” Phygus asks when they are out of the room. “Think Bryne is interesting enough to keep him distracted?”

“Either that or put him to sleep,” she replies, remembering a certain pointed look from Dani to Bryne as she touched up her lips during Cairlin’s pontification. “Let’s go to the Aspeff side of the Yard. I think we might be able to figure out a way to grab the frigate they have.”

“Who’s going to fly it?” Phygus asks. 

Nola stares at him for an instant, her eyes burning through him. “You know, I’m getting tired of people complaining about my flying.”

“I would never do that, dear.” He pulls out his datapad, scrolls through it.

“What’re you doing, little man? We don’t have a lot of time,” she says, impatience creeping into her voice.

“Checking to see if my life insurance is up-to-date.” He holds his hand up before she can land on him. “Got texts from Fulcrum and Hammer. They’re having trouble getting the links up to the other two frigates.”

“Leave that to me. We’ll do it the old fashioned way,” Dani says as she walks out. “I’m going to join Boman and Kanyly, as the asshole suggested.”

“Can I watch?” Phygus asks before he can stop himself.

Dani ruffles his hair. “I’ll film it if you like, short-shit. As I was saying, the lift mass ratio of their _Gonzati_ is pretty damned high. They should be able to tow one of them, if they can get it into orbit. Or, since they’re still set up for delivery, I can fly it out. Hope I don’t have to fight my way through.”

“Okay,” Nola says. “We’ll go get the Aspeff one.”

“So what are we going to do about the legalities? He is an Imperial scumbag.” Phygus asks. 

“We’ve proof he’s been sitting on them for awhile. He might not want to let the Imps know that he’s had them,” Nola says. “Plus, the case could be made that Corellia paid all of the requisite Republic taxes on them. Legally, in spite of their refusal to admit it, the Republic was the predecessor entity to the Empire.”

Dani grins. “I knew there was a reason we kept you around, foster-sister. Not just for your joyous disposition.”

Nola rolls her eyes, but returns Dani’s kiss before they split apart. They rest their foreheads together and both place their hands in Phygus’s hair.

Nola takes a deep breath, watches Dani as she pulls her heels off and starts to run. “She’ll be alright, Nola,” Phygus says quietly. “They all will.”

For once, she has nothing to say as they start to run, themselves.

+=+=+=+=+=

Slan Fells stands in the door of the private dining room at the Electoral Club. He had received the text from Kath to meet her for breakfast. He smiles. His sources on Fondor had told him that the Betrothal process was proceeding apace; that both of them would soon be very rich. An inquiry from Fondor to him had promised him untold riches in addition to the money he would make on the Betrothal fees already paid by the Ganthel family and the Naboo—non-refundable of course.

He looks up from his reverie. He smiles as he sees Kath sitting at the table, sipping caf. She had been a useful idiot in his plans.

His eyes widen as he realizes there are others in the room. A thin grip of panic seizes his chest as he recognizes them.

Draq’ Bel Iblis smiles his trademarked smile and beckons to him. “Slan, old buddy,” he says. “This is much more satisfying than when I turned you in for cheating at the university.” His face hardens. “I felt guilty, because we were all young and stupid, then. Now there’s no excuse for your stupidity and avarice.”

Fells manages to keep his calm as he walks over and sits. “Whatever do you mean, Dragon?” he asks as he waves his hand at the server-droid. The droid turns away, ignoring him. 

“You won’t be here that long, Slan,” Draq’ says. 

Slan looks at Kath, sitting next to the Dragon. “What the hell, Kath?” he asks. 

She says nothing, merely looks at him. The younger woman, sitting next to his partner, her face etched with lines of pain, speaks for her. “Guess she felt stronger about Corellia than the money,” Shyla Merricope says quietly.

Kath looks at her. “That would entail me knowing about the actual amounts of the percentages, your Excellency,” she says, a slight smile on her face. She turns her gaze back to Slan. “The worst thing about this is how I let you use me. I listened to your spiel about saving Corellia. I listened because of what you meant to me as part of my husband’s family.” The smile fades, her eyes narrow. “That alone should’ve keyed me to your schemes.”

“Kath, what about all of those Outsiders Draq’ surrounds himself with—?” he starts. 

“Save it,” she replies, her voice dropping several degrees in temperature. “I married an Ensterite. My mother and father were Ensterites. It doesn’t make me one.” She looks over at Draq’. “This old bastard here taught me more about tolerance than anyone ever did.”

Slan feels his gorge rise at those thoughts. “Why, because he rutted with a Zeltron?” Fire lights his nervous system, starting on his knee. He feels himself fall to the floor.

He looks up at the source of his pain. An old woman, her blue eyes staring fiercely at him, lowers the cane that she has just applied—with a backswing reminiscent of a swordsman of old—to his leg. “Sonny, maybe if you’d been smarter, none of this would’ve ever happened.”

“What the hell do you mean, old woman? Who the hell are you?” Slan answers through the pain.

“Slan, allow me to introduce you to the once and future Archivist of the Council, Sulen Gallamby. She and a young Captain of mine manage to dig out your little scam,” Draq’ says, a satisfied smile on his craggy face. 

Slan remembers a certain young officer in a bar, who had hung on his every word. He suddenly realizes that she had never drank from the one glass of whisky, as his had filled up, over and over again. 

He concentrates on the old woman as she sits again. He feels two sets of arms pull him up and deposit him none too gently in a chair. His blood runs cold as he recognizes the uniforms of Imperial fleet troopers. He feels the old woman’s cane ferrule tap him on his forehead.

“Pay attention, Sonny,” she says. “You almost had everybody going. Even Draq’, who even though he doesn’t look it, is smarter than most.” Slan sees Draq’ shake his head slightly as Shyla Merricope, ex-Diktat of Corellia, giggles.

“Nobody could remember Article 177 being invoked. Even references to it in the past are vague.” She grins. “It’s simple. It’s because it never actually existed in the Concordat.”

Slan starts to rise. He sees the behemoth of a trooper next to him move closer. He sits. “What do you mean? I found it in a copy.”

“That’s just it. The copy you had, from the Archives, wasn’t the original. It was just that. A copy. Somehow the notes from the original didn’t come through. The original draft is only in pencil, rather than the ink used for official documents at the time. Just like all copies, the official seal on each passed Article was missing. 177 is missing from the original, as well.”

“What do you mean?” Slan finds himself repeating.

“It means it was never enacted. It wasn’t part of the law.”

Draq’ looks at him like he is some kind of a bug. “There were never even any Betrothal fees. There were Betrothal periods and quests in the past, but no penalties. Covenants usually had no problem marrying in their day-to-day.”

Sulen stands again, anger apparent on her lined face. “The person who wrote this, whose name is lost to history was out for themselves. Probably why it never passed.”

Slan feels the iron grip of the troopers on his shoulder as they pull him up. He looks to his left, his eyes widening as Delilah Sal stands next to him.

“Hello, Fells,” she says. “Seems like forgery of government documents and fraud have put you on my radar. Guess I get to decide if we decide to go Imperial with the charges, or just local.” The smile grows on her face. “Don’t have to say that the penalties might be harsher.” She turns to Draq’. “Okay, Dragon. Thanks for the tip. This’ll look good for me.” She walks over to him, touches his cheek. “I could say you owe me,” she says. 

After a moment, he nods. “Okay Delilah. Name it.”

“A second date with the Covenant.”

Slan sees a broad grin break out on Bel Iblis’s face. “You got it.” His face grows more thoughtful. “Could help if we knew who his mysterious benefactor was. The one that got the larger percentage.”

Sal looks at Slan. He suddenly feels warmth growing in his trousers as his bladder empties. “Oh, yes, Slan. I think we might get to know each other better.”

As he is dragged away by the fleeties, he misses the looks of concern on the three remaining faces.

+=+=+=+=+=

Draq’ looks at Shyla and Sulen. All three faces match in expression. Shyla, the former head of state and government of the worlds that they all loved, had stated the obvious.

Draq’ shakes his head. “I know,” he says. “We’ve put a stop to the process, discovering it was illegal, but the people and the Imperials aren’t exactly going to accept this.” He looks at Sulen, who looks back at him, her eyes thoughtful.

“What?” he asks sharply.

“It’s going to be hard,” she says. “For the first time since the Imps came to power, the people might not be thinking of falling wages, of rising hours. Of a harsher thumb on the Eldest Brother.” She looks at Kath, who had remained. “Increasing pollution.”

“I know, Sulen. I don’t think I can lie to my people. I’ve lied before, for Corellia. I don’t think I can lie _to_ the Eldest Brother’s children.”

Kath stands up. She walks over to Draq’, reaches down, and kisses him for several seconds. Draq’ reaches up and touches her cheek. “It’s one of the things that my best friend loved about you, Draq’. The first thing Laira told me about you.”

They both look away, remembering their lost. Kath breaks the spell. Draq’ notices that her hair is down around her shoulders, giving her the softer look that he remembered from a lifetime ago. “I’ll resign from the Council, Draq’. I should’ve known.”

He shakes his head. “No. You made a mistake.” He smiles again. “I’m going to need your brains, Kath.” He looks at Shyla. “I think Corellia will need both of your smarts and love for the Eldest Brother.” After a moment, both women nod.

“So what do we do? Any of these big brains have an idea?” Shyla asks. 

Sulen smiles, looks at her. “Your corvette Captain, Draq’. The one with the wild-colored hair and the overactive libido.”

“Tamsin, yeah,” he says. 

“She offered to solve everybody’s problem.”

Draq’ rolls his eyes. “Good thing her ship was finished. I sent her back into space. Although she is headed to Fondor.”

“No. That’s not what I’m getting at. This whole circus may give the people some amusement. They’ll forget it in a few weeks. I think that they may have enjoyed Bryne’s antics in the news-sheets as much as this thing.” She looks away. “There were many close to him that would’ve been the right one. Dani. That Naboo.” She grins. “Even my granddaughter.”

In his mind’s eye, Draq’ sees his nephew laughing and even weeping with all of these young women. His eyes close as he thinks of one other. One that no one else in this room knows about.

Draq’ sees Shyla and Kath smile. He turns back to Sulen. “Out with it, Su,” he says. “I’m not as patient with your lawyer antics as Jamestyn was.”

Sulen ignores the snark. “We’re in uncertain times. Seems like we’ve been in them before. All the way back to the first Covenant.”

Draq’ raises his eyebrow. “Inasia?” His eyes widen. “Her Companions?”

Sulen shakes her head. “Not the Companions. Are you familiar with the true story of the Covenant Chain?”

+=+=+=+=+=

Bryne Covenant, once known as Taliesin Croft, a knight in the great and now-dead Jedi Order, looks down at the sleeping figure of the Yardmaster of Dao-Aspeff. He grins as he pulls a tiny vial of liquid from a hidden pocket of his coat, resting on the couch arm. He confirms the side that he had taken it from, as well as the light blue tint of the liquid. He downs it, making sure it covers his lips. 

He grins. Dani had impressed upon him that he not lose it, before they had left the ship. He had seen her using another liquid, a liquid that matched her crimson skin, to refresh her lips, just before they had separated. A liquid she had transferred to his when they had kissed goodbye. A compound from her people—used by Zeltrons for their personal defense, when aggressive partners wouldn’t be deterred by anything else. A sleep-inducing compound, that only worked when certain hormones—usually the ones that hallmarked extreme aggression in most species, were present. 

He tosses the tiny vial that had contained the precautionary antidote at Cairlin Dao. The vial strikes him square in the forehead. _Yeah. They were definitely present in this asshole_.

Covenant shakes his head, zipping his trousers up. He gives up trying to close the collar of the ripped undertunic as he lifts his coat from the couch and pulls it on. On a whim he lifts the binders that he had seen on the edge of the end table and snaps them on Dao’s wrists behind his back. 

He steps out in the corridor, looking left. As he looks right, he sees four very large male and female humans standing there watching him, expectantly.

“Hello, boys and girls. Were you the strippers that Cairlin ordered?”

Blank expressions meet his in reply from all four faces. Faces that all appear to be heavily encumbered with extra muscles. Finally, the most intelligent-looking one—a low bar to be sure—says, “No. We’re the one who were going to take you and hang you from a gantry crane.” She smiles. “So, we _are_ going to make someone dance.”

Covenant sighs. He pulls his coat off and hangs it on a doorknob. He lifts his hands up. “Guess we’ll both get a different kind of dance.”

He whirls to the left, striking the largest in his muscled nose, while grabbing the opposite thug by the collar and shoving her into the spokesidiot’s chest. Covenant winces as the third of his opponents strikes out at him. He manages to shift his face where the blow strikes his temple. He sees the galaxy under his eyelids, but manages to kick out, his toes connecting with something soft. 

Five minutes later, he takes a deep breath, surveying his handiwork. The four thugs lie in a pile on the floor. A harmony of moans can be heard from the pile. 

_Just because you’re big, doesn’t mean you’re skilled_. He picks up his coat. 

His world explodes in a burst of electric blue color, centered in an uneven circle passing by his vision as the rest of the circle strikes him.

A single thought cuts through the last of his consciousness. _Goddamnit, how could you kark up a kiss? Unless he’s such a damned sociopath the aggression didn’t register_.

+=+=+=+=+=

Meglann bangs her fist on the console as the word ‘denied’ blinks accusingly in red on the screen for the fifth time. Ahsoka smiles, then places her hands on Meglann’s shoulders, pulling her away from the console. 

“It’s okay, Ina,” she says. “Let’s think this through.”

Meglann looks down, then back at her. She smiles ruefully. “Sorry, Fulcrum,” she says. 

Ahsoka makes a dismissive gesture. She peeks over Meglann’s shoulder at the console. She takes a sideways glance at the younger woman. Meglann’s teeth worries her lips; most of the excess darkening makeup has been scrubbed clean (with the assistance of Fulcrum). She smiles at the mimicked movement of those with sharper incisors.

“Are you sure that Yosta gave us the code to link the other two?” she asks.

Meglann exhales before she replies. “She said she gave me partial codes to open the room for the launch keys. Your hoodoo was actually good for something else, to make up for the rest. I found the files on the datachip that could link the ships to one set of controls on the card. Thought it was a bonus.” Her expression darkens with anger. “That’s what I get for trusting these assholes.”

Ahsoka touches her arm. “Don’t count them out yet. They did fight for you in that restaurant.” She pulls Meglann’s datapad closer to her, then touches her comm. “Hey, shorter-than-my-knee. You through enjoying the high life and ogling rich beautiful women who don’t know your nature?”

There is a pause. “Hello, dear. I was ogling rich, beautiful women, but now I have to settle for Nola.” Meglann and Ahsoka exchange smiles as they hear an impact of flesh on flesh and a cry. “Hey! I was just saying you weren’t rich.”

Ahsoka waits, not so patiently. “Whaddaya want?” Phygus asked. Ahsoka opens her mouth.

“Don’t say for me to grow a meter, either. Not everything about me is small.”

“Yes, little man. Your ego certainly isn’t,” Meglann says, before Ahsoka can reply. 

“Are you on the other Nebbie? The one that the Aspeff controls?” Meglann asks.

“Yeah. Just starting to get into the system. As long as Nola can fly us in a straight line to a hyperspace route, we should be fine.”

“Maybe,” Ahsoka says. “We have a problem.”

“Just one? Besides your winning personality?” comes the reply.

Ahsoka ignores the riposte. “We have link codes for the other two. We’re on the first one. Codes seem to be the right ones; just can’t link back.”

“Hang on. Give me permission on your data interface,” Phygus says. 

Ahsoka sees Meglann work a few keys on the datapad screen. 

“Got into the code. It works okay, just appears to not have a lot of range. Let me see if I can find the others.”

“Ahh,” he says. “The other two ships are in orbital dockyards. Too much distance for this. You’re either going to have to get up there, or find another way.”

A warm alto intrudes. “Already on it,” Dani says. “The Zeltron ship has a lot of power. We can at least get one, maybe both into hyperspace.”

Ahsoka nods. “Thanks, babe. Something tells me I’m going to have to pull someone’s bacon from the fire.” She grins. “Or sausage.”

“Well, I guess that leaves me to pull yours out, sweetie,” says another dry voice.

Ahsoka and Meglann share smiles. “So, what color is your hair now, Captain?”

“The attic’s the same,” Tamsin says. “I’ll leave the basement for you to find out.” 

Ahsoka grins at Meglann’s blush. “I’m sure there’s somebody I could ask, if I cared.”

“We’ll get the other ship. Need to shake some dockyard kinks out of the Hope.”

“I’m glad you’re still with us, Captain,” Ahsoka says, surprised at the emotion in her voice. “You and your ship.”

“Me too, Fulcrum. Guess I owe you a drink or two.” The commwave closes.

Meglann looks at her. “You know this seems too easy, right?”

“Yeah. We haven’t had to slam any more guards since those first two you danced with.”

“Let’s get out of here,” Meglann says, “before some others actually do their jobs. 

Ahsoka’s senses fire with electricity. Including a spark of a certain tri-colored light trick in her head. She starts to turn, just as she hears a thick accent. 

“It’s too late for that, dear cousin.”

Cairlin Dao, the close doppelganger for Meglann’s father, stands in the hatch of the frigate’s bridge, as an even dozen of his gun-bearing kin and minions enter. 

Ahsoka has only eyes for the man held in binders, Cairlin’s blaster to his head. Covenant is bruised, his eyes slightly unfocused from a stun charge, but his crooked grin lights her senses up.

“Sorry babe. Didn’t think I needed to show him everything I had, yet.”

“Believe me,” Cairlin says. “I saw enough.”

Ahsoka manages to slip her lightsabers under the console, just as two thugs seize her and Meglann’s blasters. She winks at Meglann, whose eyes are locked on her cousin.

She sends a thought to the light in her head. _Not yet, Bait. It’s good to hold that ‘til the last minute._

There isn’t time for an acknowledgement, as Cairlin smiles at them.

“Guess I’ll get to see the three of you dance on our halters on the dock.” He looks at Ahsoka. “This will be interesting. I’ve never seen a Togruta strangle for ship-thieving before. Maybe we’ll film it.”

Ahsoka feels Meglann’s anger spike, as her fear rises, as well.

+=+=+=+=+=

Nola watches as Phygus Baldrick works. She tries not to tap her foot impatiently, as his dual datapads flash and whir. It isn’t instinctual for her not to show impatience. Some would say it would be more ingrained in her to reach back to the main control console, seize him by the throat, then choke the living shit out of him.

Others would think that it would be Phygus’s fault, as many others have wanted to commit slicer-cide.

“Almost there, sweetie,” he says, unknowing extending his life by a few more minutes. 

Nola nods as the other consoles on the bridge come to life. She hears the comforting rumble of the engine start-up.

“See, I told you, No-no,” Phygus says, more than a hint of triumphant arrogance in his tone.

She reaches down and gives him a quick kiss on the forehead. She ignores the fact that he is most probably looking down her brief top. “Never doubted it, bud,” she says.

She can tell he is waiting for the coda. She gives it to him. “Much,” she says with a grin.

He smiles warmly. “Okay. I’ve got engine controls and the navicomputer. I think Arseven can help us with hyperspace coordinates. You just have to keep us in a straight line.”

Nola starts to speak, just as another voice breaks in on the speaker. “Maybe not,” Yosta Aspeff says. “Just intercepted a notification from the Dao to the Justice sub-Guild. They’re requesting three death warrants for ship-thieves caught red-handed at their concealed dock. A human male, a human female, and a Togruta female.”

Nola hears Phygus’s intake of breath. “Phygus—slice in there, see if you can break it up.”

“Too late,” Yosta says. “Warrants have already been granted. The executions will be carried out immediately.”

“What about a goddamned trial?” Nola shouts. 

“Don’t need one, under Fondor’s law, if someone is caught in the act. They’re going to hang them and leave them up as a warning.”

“I need your help, Ms. Aspeff,” Nola says. 

“We’re on our way. Don’t know if we can get there in time. My forces are a bit spread thin.” There is a pause. “We could use a distraction. Say a Nebbie or two.”

“We can’t get there in time,” Dani Faygan’s voice breaks in. 

“Me neither,” Tamsin says. “We’d have to drop these tows and head around the planet.”

She hears Murta Locke’s near- incomprehensible reply. _We’re on our way _, she translates.__

__She does the math in her head. She slumps. “We’re the closest,” she whispers._ _

__Nola feels Phygus’s hand on her shoulder. “You can do it, No-no,” he says, his face serious._ _

__She looks up, her breath increasing as the panic rises. She stares at the sidestick of the helm control. She dismounts the command platform and walks over. She pulls her hands up, forces them from her side. In her left hand, she takes the engine control, switching the thruster gears to ‘reverse’._ _

__Nola feels every bit of space between her right hand’s fingers and the plastic of the control. It feels warm as her palm touches the back of it. Her fingers curl around it. She keys the microphone trigger on the stick as her grip surrounds it._ _

__“This is 327. We’re on our way.”_ _

__+=+=+=+=+=_ _

__Bryne watches as Ahsoka is shoved forward out of the hatch of the frigate, onto the platform. He starts forward, but stops as he sees her slight smile. He sees that there are now three thugs holding Meglann, as two others are walking crookedly, bringing up the rear guard._ _

__He turns to Cairlin, who watches the three of them without emotion._ _

__“Oh, okay,” Bryne says. “I’ll marry you.”_ _

__Cairlin’s thin lips rise slightly. “I don’t think so. You really didn’t have anything that impressed me. That includes your so-called wit.”_ _

__Bryne looks at Meglann and Ahsoka with a raised eyebrow, who both shrug._ _

__“I don’t really have any interest in any of it. I like money. And power. All of the rest of it is just a waste of energy.”_ _

__“Does that include basic sentient emotions?” Ahsoka asks. “Like love of family?”_ _

__Cairlin smiles. “I wondered if the animal could speak,” he says. “Yes,” he says stiffly. “It does. I don’t really have any close blood family left.” He looks at Meglann. “I don’t include the bastard of a disgraced cousin, either.”_ _

__Bryne smiles. “I will ask you to reconsider. Especially Meglann.” He raises his voice so the other Dao soldiers can hear clearly. “She has a better claim to be Yardmaster than you do, Cairlin. She is the direct, lineal descendent of Erich.”_ _

__There is stirring among the thugs, but no one makes a move or shouts ‘rebellion!’._ _

__Cairlin’s smile widens. “Good try. All of these are loyal to me. If I told them to, they would all slaughter anyone. Including my so-called sister. Or their own mothers or children.”_ _

__The three stop short at the approach to the gantry. They gaze at the three nooses blowing in the breeze._ _

__Bryne turns to Cairlin. “This is your last chance, Dao. Corellia will not look with favor at anyone who murders their citizens.”_ _

__Cairlin shakes his head. “You don’t get it, do you, ‘your Eminence’,” he says. Corellia is the past. Fondor will be the future. Who do you think put me on to this course? The embarrassment of an Elder Family member being executed for theft will be too much for Bel Iblis. He’ll beg for any accommodation from me.”_ _

__“You obviously don’t know the Dragon. He’ll mourn, then rain hellfire down on you through his grief.”_ _

__“Yes, that would be well and good. But my sources tell me that your Dragon may be getting tamed in the next few weeks. We’ll see how much of a threat he is if he’s retired.” He turns to his chief minion. “Get on with it.”_ _

__The three of them are shoved forward. As they approach the gantry, Bryne notices that Meglann’s face seems to grow more pale._ _

__Ahsoka looks at him and Smirks. “You know, this is the second time since I’ve known you and Dani that I’ve either been standing against a wall or about to take a long jump on a short rope. I don’t know which one to blame.”_ _

__Both of them hear a musical laugh in their hidden earpieces. “You could bear some blame, dear. You have the ability to piss people off as much as Bryne does.”_ _

__“Great,” Bryne says, looking up at the skies. “Blame the Corellian.”_ _

__“You know it, sweetie,” Ahsoka says._ _

__They hear an intake of breath. “I don’t know if we can make it in time or not, dear,” Dani says. “You may have to get yourselves out of it.”_ _

__The three of them reach the edge of the platform. Bryne and Ahsoka look at each other as they feel Meglann’s breathing quicken. She closes her eyes._ _

__“I guess we’re going to have to show them everything we got, babe,” he says._ _

__“Yeah. I thought that’s what got us into this whole mess. You not having enough when you showed it.”_ _

__In spite of herself, Meglann giggles at the double meaning. She only has a brief respite before the rapid breathing and the furtive looks back start again._ _

__The three of them feel the ropes pulled about their necks. Ahsoka’s has been opened up to accommodate her rear lek, as the two in front are roughly pulled out of the noose. Bryne’s face grows hot. He calms himself, focuses on the tiny bit of the blue-orange light that he can detect._ _

__“Just like Wild Space, Bait. We’ll do it all together.”_ _

__“Yeah, I know, Runt. Just you may have to do all the heavy lifting this time. May only get one and a quarter Jedi instead of two,” he whispers._ _

__She smiles, her eyes growing soft over the noose. “It’s my honor and my privilege, love,” she says. “We lift each other.”_ _

___Must be some dust up here_ , he thinks. He turns to Meglann, who is visibly trembling. “It’s okay, Meglann. Ahsoka and I won’t let you die.”_ _

__Her eyes flash as she opens them and stares at him. “You asshole. I’m not afraid of dying. I’m afraid of falling.”_ _

__He rolls his eyes. “Shit-hot wannabe pilot. Afraid of heights.”_ _

__He closes his eyes, concentrating on growing that light in his mind. He hears a whine, then the rear of the noose lifts, tightening on his throat._ _

__As the light grows, a roaring sound cuts through his concentration. A roaring accompanied by the platform shaking._ _


	12. The Links of the Chain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A way forward.

WAhsoka Tano concentrates on the green, purple, and gold in her mind. She can feel the roar increasing, as the ground temblors grow deeper and closer. She manages to steady herself. She can hear Meglann cry out as the world dips. She focuses even more tightly on the light, as it grows in her mind—expands.

Suddenly there is blackness, just for an instant. She feels something strike her on the top of her head. The blow and the pain centers her. Her eyes snap open, just in time to see Meglann tottering at the edge. She snaps her hand up, her mind only distantly aware of the binders falling away, and seizes the girl, yanking her back.

Covenant is on his knees, snatching the remnants of his own binders away. He immediately turns to Meglann, who sits on the ground, her still-bound hands scrabbling at the permacrete, struggling to pull herself further from the edge.

Ahsoka sees him take Meglann’s face in his hands and stare into her eyes. He kisses her forehead. Ahsoka yanks off the noose; the cable of which is smoking and severed a meter above her montrals. Her attention is drawn by the source of the thunderous noise and vibration.

A _Nebulon-B_ heavy escort frigate moving in to dock. Just a tad too fast. At the last second, the ship brakes and slows. She winces as the upper part of the bow, just below the bridge, contacts the platform, shaking it even more.

Bryne, Meglann, and she look at one another. As one, they intone one word.

“Nola.”

They look at the bridge windows and grin. A tall figure sits at the controls, slumped over. A much smaller figure stands on the console and wraps the taller in his arms.

Ahsoka reaches down and pulls Meglann to her feet. All three turn at the silent tableau in front of them.

A lone figure faces them, a very large, smoking blaster in her hands; a blaster that only a moment before had severed the three cables with uncanny accuracy. Another, younger figure, a teenaged Fondorian boy, holds his own weapon, a more traditional one, as well as the old woman’s cane. Both are clad in knee-length silkspun tunics that leave their arms and legs bare.

Yosta Aspeff, Mater-Comptroller of the Dao-Aspeff Yards, stands straight—unbent and unbowed. She blows the smoke from the muzzle of the blaster, drops one eyelid in a wink to Meglann, then turns. Turns to face the Dao. She slowly, deliberately, holsters her weapon.

Everyone is frozen for several seconds. Ahsoka realizes that both of the figures, Mater and attendant have a slash of color over and through their left eye. A slash that looks as if two fingers had been dipped in the purple of their blood and daubed into their skin. Yosta’s hair is bound in a tight bun on top of her head, as if accentuating bare skin on the sides of her head—her father’s legacy to her on this world.

Ahsoka’s eyes widen as Cairlin starts to back away. “No. No.” he repeats in a panicked voice, his accent thinner. He shakes his head from side to side. “No. They said you’d retired, Extinction. That you weren’t dueling anymore. Not since…”

“Not since what, you puling coward?” Yosta says, her voice dripping with contempt. She begins to walk towards the Dao. The dozen or so Dao thugs look towards their leader, who is practically crying. Several more loud roars are heard. Ahsoka looks up; sees Bryne grin.

A small _Consular_ arcs in, followed closely by a CR-90, freshly repainted, and a _Gonzati_ class freighter. All three of the ships take station behind Ahsoka and the others.

“Look!” Meglann says. They follow her finger, one binder still hanging from the wrist. Two more _Nebulon-Bs_ roll in opposite the Dao group, pulling in close with the ramps extending.

Yosta doesn’t flinch.

“This could get ugly,” Ahsoka says.

“Nope,” Meglann replies. She smiles.

The turrets of the frigates start to track towards the Dao gunsels. As one, they look at one another and turn away from the fight. Cairlin stands alone, his hands still up.

“Face me, you bastard,” Yosta says, her teeth clinched. “Face me for my son and his love,” she screams. “The ones that you murdered.”

Cairlin turns to her. “Please,” he implores.

He screams as a single red bolt blasts into his chest.

He stares at his killer, then slowly slumps over to his left side, his eyes still open. His left hand flops open, revealing the small, four-barreled slugthower. His sleeve rides up, showing the spring-loaded wrist holster.

“He always did love those fancy gadgets,” Yosta says. Ahsoka can hear the contempt in her soft voice.

Yelena Aspeff slowly lowers the old DC-15 long rifle. She turns and walks over to Yosta. The young woman reverses the rifle as she approaches her grandmother, holding it out to Yosta. Ahsoka realizes she is dressed and adorned as Yosta and her attendant. Another similarly dressed young male follows her. One almost identical to the other.

“I submit myself to your discipline, Mater Yosta,” she says. With her left hand, she starts to unbuckle her weapons belt, with its more traditional hybrid weapon.

The old woman smiles, placing her hands over Yelena’s. “No my dear, keep them. You’ll need them, now that he’s dead.” She lifts her hand and pushes the rifle back. For a moment, the two women stare at each other. Slowly, Yelena tosses the rifle, deftly catches it, and slings it across her back, all in one movement.

They both turn as Meglann walks up. Ahsoka watches as both women start to bow to her. She moves beside Meglann, as does Bryne. Meglann shakes her head, placing her hands on each shoulder, young and old. “No. I’m proud to be Therion Dao’s daughter. But I’m not your Yardmaster.”

Yosta smiles. “So you’re renouncing the title?”

Meglann smiles. “Can’t renounce what was never mine. I have a job. One that doesn’t pay well, but one that I think I might’ve found my place in.” She looks over at Ahsoka, something unfathomable in her eyes. “I’m an officer of the Alderaani Defense Forces.”

Yosta and Yelena reach up and pull her to them. Ahsoka can just make out what Yosta says to Meglann. “The Yard is united. One House, once again.”

As they break away, Yelena looks at Bryne. Ahsoka sees a soft smile. She reaches up and kisses him. “Pity about the betrothal,” she says. “Kinda wanted to give you a try,” she says. The smiles turns into a grin. “But I might have to stand in line behind the Mater.”

Yosta laughs as Ahsoka and Meglann both move their hands on his arm. Ahsoka knows that there is just a hint of possessiveness in their grip. All three of them are bowled over by a tall, a short, and an even shorter figure that run up to them.

As she and Bryne are surrounded by Dani, Nola, Phygus, and Meglann, Ahsoka sees Bryne looking at her. He slowly reaches over and kisses her nose. As her eyes close, she hears a musical voice. “How the hell could you screw up a kiss?”

“It’s not my fault,” Ahsoka hears near her lek in a deeper voice. “I did everything you told me.

“I even used tongue.”

+=+=+=+=+=

Draq’ looks over at Shyla, sitting next to him on the couch. She shakes herself from her reverie; lifts her tumbler and clinks his glass.

“What’s going on in that brain of yours Draq’?” she asks.

He smiles. “Nothing much. Thinking about the future.”

She lifts her hand to his cheek. “Everybody’s okay. Your Covenant’s virtue is intact. They’ll be home soon.”

“I know.” He looks down at the little girl’s head in Shyla’s lap, her legs over him—fast asleep. He smiles as he watches Shyla’s free hand play through Jamelyn’s hair. The Elector-Presumptive snuggles closer. “You do well with her,” he says.

She gives a noncommittal noise. He knows that she thinks of a young girl a decade older than this one. One that she had lost so much time with. For duty. For other commitments. At least that’s what she tells herself. He takes a breath, puts his whisky down on the end table. Shyla sees the motion; shifts Jamelyn’s head to a more comfortable position on her injured leg.

“I’m retiring at the end of the month,” he says. “Unless they tell me to get out now.”

“Why?” Shyla asks, sitting up straighter. He tries to ignore the hurt look in her eyes.

“Thomree made that big announcement when I gave up Fiscal and External. That I would be an ‘integral’ part of the Corellian economy. It was all window dressing. For the last three years, we have had a street named after Sienar, leading to its new factory. A deal he negotiated without me. For the first time, a non-Corellian design-build firm has a major presence here.”

Shyla brings her head to his shoulder as he continues. “Another excuse to drive down the wages for our people. To lessen the infusion of credits in the economy that can keep the standard of living high for them.” His eyes fall. “Another step to a true command economy; that leaves everyone else but the Empire and a few supporters out in the cold.”

“So what will you do, Draq’?” she asks. “Give up?” The last is asked in a sharp tone—one he hadn’t heard from her since she had left the Palace. _A spark_.

“I’m going to concentrate on the Crowneshield Foundation. I think I can do a lot of good.” He smiles. “I’ll just have to create a division for relief here on Corellia.”

“It’ll be dangerous. The Empire won’t like you sticking your nose into things.”

“I know. But I have to do something. My concentration on the External may be what got us into this thing.”

“Draq’—,” she starts.

He holds his hand up. “I know. It needed to be done. I’ll still be involved, just not as much.” He grins. “At least on the visible.”

He moves his thumb to a slight tear in her eye. “It’s okay, Shy. It’s time. I think it was time when you were run out by Thomree, or with the first layoffs at CEC, back when the Empire took over.” _How many orphans did we create when that happened?_

“Will you stay here?”

“Sometime. The rest will be on Drall, on the farm with Ala.”

“What about Dani?” She touches Jamelyn’s cheek, causing the girl to stir.

Draq’ smiles. “She’ll take over external operations for the Foundation. I think that it might be safer for Jamelyn to get off of Corellia. To see the universe. _Not to mention for Dani to continue in the fight. Something she’s been aching for._

Shyla nods, her dark eyes knowing more than either are telling.

“What about me?” she whispers.

“I think that it might be time you to take a more active role in our little intergalactic social club. I think that you can do a lot of good with the inroads that you made with the Hutts as Diktat. You saved a lot of our citizens from being spaced, even when their stupidity got them into the messes.”

“What does Bail say?”

“He’s in favor of it.”

She sits back. Her face crumples with grief. “I can’t,” she says.

“Why? Because of your addiction to spice?”

He steels his heart at her look of horror. “You knew?”

“I suspected. Then your poisoning—the use of the Huttastorm. That’s something that can be used to cut and enhance the effects of the spice, when it isn’t being used to poison someone. You either got a bad batch, or someone else knows. We’ll have to keep an eye on that.”

Her tears are flowing freely now. “I can’t do this. I could jeopardize people’s lives.”

He pulls her closer. “Maybe. But I think that the reason that you turned to the spice was that you had no purpose. You were kicked out of a job that you excelled at—kicked out for defending the rights of your people by a puppet of the Emperor. I saw you right after it happened. You were lost. It’s why you pushed us away.

“I saw you with Dani and Jamelyn also, in the last few weeks. I saw that you had purpose again. That’s why I’m willing to take a chance on you. But you have to get clean.

“You’re going to Zeltros with Bryne. Ostensibly to help them with their liquor industry, as well as assist them with preparing Kanyly na’ Torstan’ii for her installation as Zeltros’s new Senator, later this year.” He looks at her, his eyes soft, but unyielding.

She sits up, her eyebrows rising into her hairline at his grave expression. “There’s an enclave there,” he continues. “A very dear friend of mine is the sponsor of it, as well as having planetwide duties. A healer—a medical doctor, with some extensive mind-healing contacts will help, as well as with the physical help. The Chalice and the mind-healers will help your mind; Sina Faygan’ii will help your body.”

“The Chalice? Isn’t she—?”

“She is. It’s good that you’ll meet Dani’s mother and cousin.”

Shyla is silent. Draq’ pulls a handkerchief out of his sleeve and wipes her face.

“Have you told Dani?” she whispers.

“No. I figure that’s your choice. You’ll still be busy. You’re cover will be Chief Operating Officer for Whyren’s. Might help if you’re having to deal with some of the criminal elements offworld.”

“So you’re taking my suggestion for the Covenant?”

“Yep. As the last of the Raylans, it’s his by birthright.” He grins. “He’ll be the Spirit Master-General. He’ll need your expertise.” He looks down. “Bryne needs to get offworld, after this whole thing. This’ll allow him to, as well as work in the Core—maybe even the Rims, too.” He falls silent as he sees Ahsoka’s face in his mind. “He’ll be able to support others.”

He moves over and kisses Shyla gently. “He’ll help you heal, too. In spite of everything, he’s a good man. A good person.”

“So I guess, he’ll be my ‘kept man’? In keeping with Sulen’s proposal?” she asks, a gleam in her eye.

“Maybe. It’s a toss up between you and Delilah,” he says with his own answering smirk. “Maybe both.”

“Great company I’ll keep, between the Hagspawn and the Hutts,” she replies dryly.

She pushes her face into his chest. “Thank you, Dragon,” she whispers into his suit front.

He once again looks to the future—a future for Bryne, for Ahsoka, for Dani and Jamelyn; for the rest of their family, new and old.

A future for his world, if not immediate.

+=+=+=+=+=

Ahsoka walks towards the airlock of the old ship. She sees Meglann furtively glancing at her. “What, Ensign?” she finally asks.

Meglann reaches out and stops her, turning Fulcrum to face her. “Are you sure you don’t want me to go instead? I can handle hiding eight ships, Ahsoka.”

Ahsoka smiles, the brief spike of pride in her chest centering her. She tamps it down. “I’ve no doubt of that, Meglann,” she says “but I want you to have some more time on Corellia. Some time with your grandmother.”

She sees the indecision on Meglann’s face—the argument rising on her lips.

Meglann looks down under her gaze. “I think you need to spend more time with Bryne, Ahsoka. Especially after all of this,” she says. She takes Ahsoka’s right hand in both of hers and gently rubs the knuckles and fingers.

Ahsoka closes her eyes at both the calming sensation of Meglann’s touch and her own indecision. She knows that Tamsin could handle the concealment of the frigates, along with the five Separatist heavies they had taken. Sloane Conlyn’s huge Guardian, Behntu, would rendezvous with them at the Alchernon Pass.

 _I don’t want to go_ , flashes through her mind. Another voice intrudes. _You have to, Runt._

She shakes her head of the voices. “I know, Meg,” she says. “He needs some time to figure out what he can do for both Corellia and the movement.”

Meglann’s voice rises. “Goddamnit, what about what you can do for each other? Fuck the movement. Fuck Corellia,” she shouts.

Her eyes widen as they fall on something behind Ahsoka. She looks away, suddenly finding something interesting in the bulkhead rivets, her skin flushing. Ahsoka smiles. “So what d’you think, Bait? Is she a keeper?” she asks, not turning around.

“I guess. Kind of a mouthy scooch, though. I think she gets that from you.”

“Nah. I think she’s spent too much time around Nola on this trip.”

Bryne Covenant walks over to both of them and takes them in his arms, Meglann standing between them. Ahsoka watches as he puts his face in Meglann’s hair. “We’re okay, Port,” he says. “We both know what hands’ve been dealt. We’ll find a way.” He pulls in tighter. Meglann places her head on Ahsoka’s chest.

They stand like that for several minutes. Finally, Meglann reaches down and up with each hand, groping both of them with a devilish grin. She kisses them both quickly, then breaks away. “Just a little something to tide you over,” she says as she walks away.

Ahsoka looks at her retreating form. “Nope. I was wrong. Not Nola. She’s been hanging around Dani too much.” She grows serious. “Is she going to be alright?”

He smiles at her. “Yep. She’s pretty damned strong. She’s got several examples for that, as I’ve said before. Yosta, Yelena, and she had a long talk. She’ll keep in touch, but they agreed that she should keep the visits to a minimum. Too many assholes that might try to hook on to her to challenge Yelena’s tenure.”

Ahsoka nods. “Meglann told me that Draq’ is going to reach out to them and try to help them get away from the Oligarchy of the Yard-Families, to something that would be more open for the people of Fondor. Something that he had helped to do on Corellia before the Republic fell and the Empire changed everything. Without an Imperial sympathizer in charge of the major Family, it might take. The Dao-Aspeffs, now that they’re united have a lot of influence on the Guild of Starshipwrights.”

Bryne looks away at the mention of the planet’s ruling body. “Yeah. He feels like he can show them his mistakes, as he calls them.” He smiles. “Apparently Kath Morn will be helping. Both of them were in graduate school with Yosta.”

Something in his eyes causes her to roll hers. “Let me guess. Draq’s an ‘old flame’,” she says dryly.

“Possibly. I try not to think about it too much.”

“Too much competition?”

“I would never need to compete with a geriatric,” he replies, without missing a beat.

“The geriatric did offer to show me a thing or two, when we first met. Said I could do better with someone with more experience than a ‘pup,’ as he put it.”

“Oh, he did, did he?” Bryne asks with a laugh. “You think you need anything that the old hound can give you?”

“Well—-,” she starts, her eyes growing mock-thoughtful.

An assault on the sensitive skin of her belly, coupled with artificial respiration practice and she rests against the bulkhead, her wrists held loosely above her montrals.

He looks down, serious again. “Are we okay, Ahsoka?” he asks.

She feels a tender smile flow to her features. “I think so, Jame,” she whispers, his birthname hanging in the air between them. “I know that what you told to Meglann is so true. We always find a way.”

He rests his forehead against hers. “I could’ve lost you. This thing could’ve caused me to be tied to Corellia—something we were able to avoid with Jamelyn’s Acceptance.”

“Yeah, but look at you. You and Draq’ and Dani—with help from others, found a way. Not sure what the hell the ‘way’ is, but I think that we’ll fight together. Maybe keep fighting each other as well.”

He laughs. “Yeah. Dani says we’re a family. We fight, we fuck, we forgive.”

“I think that should go on your coat of arms. In Middle Corellian, of course,” she says, her laughter rising with his. “So it’s unpronounceable.”

The loudspeaker comes on behind them with an impatient tone. “Fulcrum, do you think that you could tell the wanker to pull out? I’m not getting any younger here,” Tamsin says.

Ahsoka feels her anger rise, until she sees the laughter in his eyes. She grins sheepishly, then turns to a wall comm. She punches the button. “Not everybody only needs just two minutes, Captain. I’ll be there when I get there.”

The same impatient voice laughs. “Okay. Two and a half for him. We’ll be ready.”

Bryne releases her wrists. Her hands slide down to the warmer skin of his face. “I’ll figure this thing out. Kinda interested to see what Draq’ and Meglann’s grandmother have come up with.”

She kisses him. “Go take care of your family, Tempest,” she says.

“I will, Fulcrum,” his reply. “It’s your family, too,”

As their lips meld with the usual whispers against each other, the multicolored lights grow and brighten in their Force-senses. Blue and orange meshes with green, purple, and gold.

+=+=+=+=+=

_The Covenant—the Cunan-Tusail in one language of her region, looks out at the assembled troops of the host. She closes her eyes as she contemplates this—the final battle to unite the warring princedoms, dukedoms, and petty chieftainates under one High King._

_The Covenant—the first to bear this title, of the small kingdom ruled by a family known as the Ray, smiles. She runs her hand over her dark eyes, then turns to look at the other three warriors, sages, and healers standing close to her. She eyes them fondly as they pull closer. They each touch her chest, above her heart, as she reciprocates to them. She pulls them even closer, taking time to kiss each one. Two women and a man, or at least one who claims that gender currently, each of her age or younger. The male holds an infant; an infant that bears her own piercing blue eyes, as well as a cap of straw-like hair, a gift from her unknown mother. The dark bronze skin marks him as his father’s._

_She closes her eyes, as she draws on that mysterious companion in her mind. The one that allows her to jump higher, to run faster, to strike harder—to even suggest paths to those with weaker minds. She opens them again, looking further out past those in her arms, at the most senior of her Companions—those that have taken to calling themselves the Hells._

_She grins as she thinks of the Hells. Her own given name is a derivative of one of the original Keepers of those Nine Hells—Inasia, or ‘Little Hammer.’_

_Inasia looks at the three. Her advisors, her counselors, her sword-mates, even her lovers—her Paladins. Ones closer to her than any others—even her own fathers._

_She looks over to her right, to an older male standing off to the side. He is not a warrior; or even a sage. He is a talker—one who goes among the camps of the enemies and smoothly negotiates. He may even be a trickster and a charlatan. He is the fourth of her circle—the one unnamed, the one of many faces, if needed. One who advises her and even claims her body on occasion. But one who bears watching. One that she knows might slip a knife into her back even as her body claims his. Either that, or he will forge his own path._

_Inasia thinks of the fifth. The one not present. A true ranger; that only the three in her arms knows exists. A distant shadow, but the closest of them all to her. The one that is the lever for all of the forces churning towards this final confrontation._

_She looks up to the high cliff above approaching enemy hosts. She bows her head to the unseen rider—the First among her circle._

_The sound of several mounts and jingling armor interrupts her reverie. She takes a deep breath as the Garm, the King of the Central Coast of Aquilonia, approaches with his guards and other Captains and lords._

_She pulls the three in tighter, nods at the fourth. She sends a silent entreaty for the safety of the fifth._

_The Covenant holds her True Chain close to her heart and mind, as she calls her mount to her. She turns and rides to the head of the line._

_She goes to end the Age of Uncertain Paths._

+=+=+=+=+=

Sulen looks up from the yellowing parchment, her gloved hands steady as she finishes reading. She notices that her granddaughter’s head rests against her shoulder on the couch as she listens.

The newly appointed Archivist and Mediator of the Electoral Council returns the original _Concordat_ to its protected cover. The others in the room are silent as they digest what she has read. A story; an allegory even, as well as the words written by the first Covenant.

Draq’ Bel Iblis breaks the spell, as he usually does. “I always thought that the five Links of the Chain symbolized the Five Brothers,” he says.

“No,” Sulen says. “This was forged long before we even knew that the other Brothers were anything other than lights in the sky.”

“So how does this help us, if someone ever decides to come up with something like Article 177 again?” Draq’ asks.

Sulen smiles. “It’s actually up to you, as Chair of the Electoral Council, Draq’,” she says. “If you declare that we are in an Age of Uncertain Path, then the formation of the Covenant’s true Chain will forgo any attempts to ‘marry him off,’ as you said, under Article 177 or its like—the existing Articles that don’t tell him to get married, but strongly suggest, and then bug the shit out of him until the end of time or he surrenders. The reasoning is that the Covenant is more concerned with the protection of the worlds in the here and now. The Preamble and Testament to the _Concordat_ , also makes any offspring that may occur, legitimate heirs.”

The room is silent as they digest that. Sulen notices that Nola gets up and walks to the viewport, her eyes unreadable. “So we’re your harem, or your brood mares— is that what you’re saying?” she asks quietly. Dani walks up beside her and places her arm around her waist, pulling her in tightly.

“None of you are ever ‘just’, anything, to me,” Covenant says quietly. He looks down. “I don’t think that second part will happen, No-no—at least not in this darkness. The protection of the Elector-Presumptive, and a certain, uh, group, is paramount.”

Nola nods, and then allows a slight smirk to flow to her sharp features. “Maybe you’re our harem of one. Just like that healer was for Inasia.”

The others laugh. Sulen notices that Nola still looks at Bryne intently. He shakes his head imperceptibly. She sticks her tongue out at him. He smiles at her.

“So who will know of the True Chain?” Dani asks, still holding Nola.

“Only the Links themselves will know the identities of all of them—except for the Unnamed. The Electoral Council will know that the Chain has been formed. The public and the government will only know that a symbolic Age of Uncertain Paths has been declared. Most won’t give a damn. Even the Emperor and his creature Thomree could admit that Corellia and the other Four Brothers are on an uncertain path, though their parameters might be different. The people will know that the Covenant will be out among the stars, working for the Five Brothers, but with a support system for himself—maybe even a way to foster the line.”

Meglann rises up and looks at Bryne. “So, your Eminence, who are the Links?” she asks, a warm smile flowing to her face. Sulen looks at her with pride.

Bryne is silent for only a moment. “Well, I think that three of them are in this room. My swordmates.”

Dani, Nola, and Meglann look at one another. They nod. Draq’ smiles at the choices.

“Okay, who else besides me, stud?” Sulen asks, her eyebrows waggling.

The laughter breaks the tension. “I don’t think I could handle you, Grammy,” Bryne says, smirking.

Her eyes flash thunderously at the forbidden nickname, then ease as Meglann kisses her cheek.

“And the Others, Bryne?” Dani asks. “That twit Rhayme? She forges her own damned path.”

The others smile at the bit of steel in her voice.

Bryne picks up the Chain—the symbol. “If you notice, the Other link at the end is a bit different than the others. I actually think it’s pewter rather than silver. It’s very tarnished,” he muses. “That’s not just because they may be evil, but because they may be in flux on their path. I think that Lassa definitely qualifies as the primary Other—especially if we ever have to unass Corellia with the Elector,” he says. “But there are others who also might qualify, because they would bear watching, but could be used to restore the light.” He grins.

There is a collective groan at the realization of a possibility. “Sal,” Nola says. Her eyes narrow. “So are you going to marry her?”

“Oh, hell no,” he says emphatically. “She just may move up on my lists of conquests in the media. I just have to make sure that certain secrets are kept—namely one of my pasts.” He closes his eyes and shakes his head. “As Sulen says, the Others can have many faces.”

“Close your eyes and think of Corellia,” Sulen intones.

As the laughter subsides, Sulen watches as he grows serious. “I know that some of you have those you are close to. According to the First Chronicle, the first True Chain had those close to each of them, as well. This doesn’t take the place of those. Maybe it’s just an escape for me. But I think that this formalizes something that we already have—the care, the comfort, the laughter, and the fight for the light.” He looks at Dani and Nola, who look down, thinking of connections forged.

“Family,” Dani whispers.

Bryne nods. “The Zeltrons and the Togruta recognize and thrive with multiple marriages. This isn’t quite that. The Naboo, the Alderaani, and the Corellians—it’s not customary, at least in this era. It’s a bond, though,” he finishes.

“Speaking of one of those who recognize multiple marriages, are you going to talk about the fifth? The Ranger?” Meglann asks. “The Prime?”

Bryne nods. “That’s the plan. But I think that we need to build up the other Hells, as well. We need another couple to be at full strength.” He looks at Draq’, their eyes meeting.

Draq’ stands up. “Sulen, I think that we need to put the finishing touches on this uncertainty thingy I’m about to declare.” He offers her his arm. Sulen looks at Meglann, as she shifts up, in the preparation for the slow rise to her feet.

“We’ll be alright Gran. Just some things that you’re safer not knowing about,” she says.

Sulen reaches over and kisses her on the forehead. “You worry me, little Hammer,” she says, holding her lips to Meglann’s skin. Her eyes glance at the others. “But I also know these who care for you; who you care for.”

She rises and smiles at the others as she takes Draq’s arm.

+=+=+=+=+=

Delilah Sal walks into the ornate room of the Diktat’s Palace. She tries to keep her covetous looks to herself. Her eyes widen as she sees the guest sitting next to Dupas Thomree.

Dorith Panteer, late of Alderaan, as well as her bed, smiles up at her, his blue eyes bright in his bronzed skin. His neatly trimmed mustache twitches slightly at her expression. She narrows her eyes at him.

“Oh, get over yourself, my dear Advisor,” the Moff for the Corellian Sector says. “Just because Lord Panteer and I have sampled your charms doesn’t mean that we can’t work together.” He smiles, a hawkish expression. “For the glory of the Empire.”

She remains standing, silent.

“We’ve good news. It looks as if Draq’ is getting ready to resign. That means we’ll be taking Lady Bel Iblis-Tagge from you to oversee CEC.”

Delilah remains expressionless.

“You don’t seem pleased, Delilah,” Panteer says pleasantly. “I thought this is what you wanted,” he finishes.

She smiles, finally. “Yes. However, I also know how slippery the Dragon can be. He’ll still make trouble. We’ll have to watch Colum and the others still in the government.”

“That will be your job. I’ve found someone who can possibly help Lady Tagge keep CEC free from interference. Someone that you know. Or at least you know his mother.”

The door opposite them opens. Delilah first hears the measured sound of a dragging step.

“Hello, sister,” says a rasping voice.

She feels her anger swell as she stares at the emaciated figure of her half-brother. A man with the face of Bryne Covenant, but with the same dark eyes that look back at her in the mirror every morning. With the addition of a burning, fanatical gaze of hatred. The eyes of their shared mother—Mailyn Blackthorn, known as the Hag, even to herself and her loved ones.

“You barely recognize me, I know. The spice mines of Kessel will do that to you.”

She looks at the pair seated, who say nothing.

She wonders if she has chosen the wrong side as Rasteen Blackthorn sidles up to her. He pulls her into an embrace; she freezes. “Good to see you again. Maybe I can make use of you, before I kill you, my dear. You’re only a bastard.”

Delilah manages to escape his embrace, then the room, making all of the appropriate approving noises to Thomree as she does. As she makes it to her own office in the Imperial complex, she takes a deep breath. Mailyn’s legitimate sons had shown nothing but contempt for her on the one or two occasions she had met.

Delilah thinks of debts that her mother had incurred. Debts that she is liable for. Debts to beings that make the Empire and its minions seem like angels.

She pulls out a plasticard with a simple commcode on it. She touches it to her comm.

A holographic image comes up. A small figure, dressed in an expensive business suit, his reptilian features tempered by gray-blue eyes and other human features, gazes back at her.

“Hello, my dear,” the figure says. “I’m glad you’re taking me up on my offer. I think that I can be of assistance to you—at not too high of a cost.”

Delilah’s heart twists as she thinks of those debts.

The being known as Malaky smiles at her—a surprisingly gentle expression. “I think that you just might have to reevaluate your loyalties, dear.”

+=+=+=+=+=

Bryne rises as they leave. “I think y’all have figured out who the Prime is.”

Dani grins and rises with him. “I think that’s fairly fucking clear, Captain Obvious,” she says, walking over to him. “You just better hurry up and tell her, or you and I might get hurt.”

“So is there any ceremony or anything?” Meglann asks.

“Our institutional knowledge just walked out the door, so I’m making an executive-type decision and saying ‘no’,” Covenant says. “But you all do have symbols that could be associated with me, except maybe you, Nola.”

He nods at Dani, at her middle, at the symbol of the heart-bond with his Master. Meglann lifts the jeweled candlewick flower of Alderaan’s royal family around her neck. He touches the tooth on the chain under his shirt that his symbol usually hangs from.

He smiles at Nola. “Maybe you’ll make your parents happy and get that engagement ring, No-no,” he says. She stands up and walks over to him.

“I’d settle for a new blaster or a new speederbike.”

Dani snorts. “Looks like one of the Links may have already gotten one of those, from her other family.”

All eyes turn to Meglann, who returns their gaze steadily. Her fingers tap on the rich leather holster of the heavy blaster under her left shoulder. A chromium RSKF-44, its power cylinder replaced with a proxy.

“So how did you wind up with that, Meg?” Nola asks.

“Yosta took it off and handed it to me before I left her and Yelena. She said it was time to let the Extinction’s legend die.”

“Is that why Cairlin nearly pissed himself, when she showed up, locked and loaded?”

“Yeah. She’d never lost—been challenged by many—those who underestimated her.” Meglann looks away, her eyes thoughtful. “She never went looking for it—her father’s people don’t usually carry weapons except for those fusioncutter/vibroblades.”

“Yosta nearly lost her last one, when a Dao gunner—one probably put up to it by Cairlin, pulled a hideout blaster after she put him on the ground and unloaded it in her hip.”

“Why such fear from the Dao?”

“She put twenty-seven people in the ground. Cairlin had twenty-six—mostly inexperienced gunners or ones past their prime. He wouldn’t challenge her directly.”

Bryne smiles as he listens. “That’s a big gun. Lot of responsibility,” he says.

Meglann looks sheepish. “I know. Drop just lets me carry it on the ship, unloaded. Wants me to get used to the weight. Then he’ll take me out to qualify with it. Only then will I get to carry it in the world.”

He nods, then beckons to the others, as well, pulling them all in tightly.

“So is this where all the fun begins?” Nola. “Maybe some of that light-building?”

All of them look at each other, suddenly awkward. Save one.

“Maybe we can have dinner or something?” Meglann suggests in a small voice, blushing.

“We could take in a boloball game or something,” Nola says. “A speederbike race?”

Dani rolls her eyes. “Not a single one of you has a modest bone in your body. All of sudden it’s as if you’ve all been re-virginized or something,” she snarks. “Why don’t we go break a few public decency laws?” she suggests.

As their grip tightens on one another, Bryne Covenant reaches out to the Force. He smiles and sighs with relief as he sees the familiar blue-orange light.

_Hey, Runt. Got something to tell you. Takodona. Three days._

He remembers the first time he had heard that in his head, from this same light, a full year ago.

When his universe was reborn.

+=+=+=+=+=

“A whisky distillery, Bait?” Ahsoka asks incredulously. “You own a whisky distillery?”

Both of them stand on a lush green world, holding each other tightly, their skin melding with the other’s. The water of an ancient fall, downstream from the huge lake that Maz’s sanctuary sits next to, cascades over them, chilling them only slightly. Bryne feels her center lek twitch over his hands splayed on her back, the muscles of that back rippling as well. As always, he marvels at the raw, coiled power in his arms.

A part of him twitches a bit as well as he feels her bare knee move up between his legs—gently, with intent, but not the intent that usually comes from this warrior. He shakes his head, then kisses her prominent collarbone gently.

“Not exactly,” he finally replies, as her lips move to his throat. “Draq’ persuaded the rest of the Council to facilitate about fifty percent of it to me, as a ‘betrothal’ gift. He controls about twenty percent, as does Shyla Merricope. Five percent is publicly traded—that’s a lot of money for investors.”

“What about the other five percent?”

He grins, then kisses her, ignoring the slight pinch of one of her sharp incisors on his tongue. “The Five Links of the Chain each split that. For expenses and whatnot incurred while fighting the darkness.”

Her grin mirrors his. “So what about the ‘Trickster’?” she asks. “Your Imperial play-toy.” She squeaks, then growls, as his index finger and thumb finds a particular spot around the crater on her belly. “The public face,” she manages to finish.

“Call it another expense. Bribing an Imperial officer.” He looks away, his eyes fixed on the horizon. “May be a different tactic in use. She may be someone else’s project.”

“Just make sure you get a bacta injection down there if you do have to ‘pump’ her for information.”

“You had to put that sensation in my mind, didn’t you, Runt?” he says with a grimace.

“Yep. Your penance.” She nestles her face against his chest. “So what’re you going to do with fifty percent of a whisky distillery?”

He rolls his eyes. “You keep saying it’s ‘a’ whisky distillery. The Ancient Whyren is _the_ whisky distillery for some, if not most.”

“It’s certainly mine,” she says. “Although Lassa would disagree, if there’s Tevraki to be had.”

“She always had a shitty palate,” he says. He grows serious. “Most of it will be held in trust for Jamelyn—the care of her mother, as well.” He tries to keep his eyes from growing sad. “For one other, too,” he adds, his mind flowing to a new holo he keeps under his armor. A holo of a laughing infant girl on another peaceful world. “The rest will probably go to most of the charities I can find. Including one for building a certain fleet of ships.”

She nods. He can tell by the look in her blue eyes, that she didn’t miss his pain. To her credit, she doesn’t ask. She knows by now that he will tell her, when he is ready.

“So. I’m the first, right?” she asks, breaking the spell.

“Always, _cyarika_. The Prime among the Links.” He sees her eyes tear softly, as she raises her hand to his cheek, her thumb touching his lips. She shakes her head to dispel the tears.

“So what are you going to get No-no?” she asks, changing the subject.

“How about flying lessons?” he replies with a straight face.

As the laughter fades to sporadic chuckles again, she asks him, “So what’s next?”

“First stop will probably be to Zeltros at some point. The _Zoetarch_ wants to do something to improve that swill that they call liquor. A partnership.”

“Humility, Bait,” she chides, digging her teeth into his chest, near another wound that she had given him years ago.

“If you’re good, then there’s no need to be humble, Runt,” he says as their laughter rises.

“Yeah, right. You’re just going there for some more fun with Dani’s in-laws, as well as meeting the _Zoetarch.”_

His laughter dies. He takes a deep breath.“At some point, I’m going to Coruscant, Ahsoka.”

“Bait—,” she starts, with an indrawn breath, her fingers involuntarily curling in his chest hair.

“I know. I’m going with Shyla, ostensibly to lobby for some trade concessions. She’ll be doing the lobbying, as well as attending the installation of Kanyly Torstan as the Zeltron senator. That’s several months off, as the current Senator wants to finish up some things before she goes.”

Ahsoka is silent. “So what will you be doing?” she asks.

“Couple of things. Looking into a rumor of a possible cell in the undercity, as well as a personal request from the Torstan. To help find a relative.”

She closes her eyes. “This is something Fulcrum should be doing,” she whispers into his ear.

He shakes his head, lifting her chin and eyes up. “No, Runt. It’s the Core. My responsibility.”

After a moment she nods. “You’ll be careful, right?” she asks.

“I will.” He grins, an expression guaranteed to soften her.

It does, to an extent. He sees the devilish expression, a half-instant before he feels the top of her small foot behind his calf.

He is unable to resist gravity’s pull as he tumbles backwards into the shallow pool formed by the falls. He jerks upright, sputtering, as Ahsoka slips down to straddle him.

He feels her hand grasp him, then move him to herself. He feels himself hardening, an instant before he hears a sharp cry as she sinks on him; he is not sure from who.

As she begins her rhythm, he hears her voice gasp out, “How about paying attention to my core, your Eminence?”

The rest is lost as their lips claim each other.

In the large castle a slight distance away, a small being looks up from where she listens to the music in the main bar. Maz Kanata smiles and lowers her goggles as she feels the sensations of light in the Force. Of the slight sound of building cries.

Oddly, she thinks of a chain. A Chain with some already forged, but newly tempered Links.

A Chain that might help to restore the light for the entire galaxy.


End file.
